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KETURAH AND LONG TOM—CATS 




















HISTORY OF MY PETS 


BY 


GRACE GREENWOOD 

Author of “Stories of My Childhood,” etc. etc. 





With New Illustrations by Max F. Klepper 


\ \ 


NEW EDITION 

REVISED AND ENLARGED BY THE AUTHOR 


NEW YORK 

UNITED STATES BOOK COMPANY 

SUCCESSORS TO 

JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY 

142 TO 150 WORTH STREET 




Copyright, 1850, 

By Saha J. Clarke. 
Copyright, 1871, 

By James R. Osgood & Co. 
Copyright, 1890, 

By Sara J. Lippincott. 


AFFECTIONATELY 

DEDICATED TO ALL GOOD CHILDREN 
AND 

A FEW NAUGHTY ONES, 

BY 

GRACE GREENWOOD. 


New York, July, 1890. 















CONTENTS. 


Preface,. 7 

^Keturah and Long Tom—Cats, • • *3 

^Sam the Rooster,.. 

,/Toby the Hawk, .. 4 ° 

Phibby the Frog,. 5 2 

i/Milly the Pony, and Carlo the Dog, . . 65 

vX!ora the Spaniel,.82 

^Jack the Drake,.* 93 

v^Hector the Greyhound, ..... 104 

v Bob the Cosset,.117 


yTow . the Setter, . ■ .125 

SUPPLEMENTARY STORIES. 


Minnie’s Owl,.. . 140 

Nannie’s Lamb .148 

^/Fido the Brave, ...... 157 

Cat Tales : 

^/Faithful Grimalkin,.165 

yO bedient Thomas,.168 

^Katrina and Katinka, .... 173 


v 





vi CONTENTS. 

v/Ouk. Cousins the Parrots,. l8 5 

Rooster Mothers.• 20 3 

/The Gallant Bantam,.210 

/ Other Disowned Chicks,.214 


A PREFACE. 


I hope my little readers will be inter¬ 
ested in a little story of my early life, before 
I come to the history of my pets. I was 
the youngest girl in a family of seven sons 
and four daughters—all of whom with the 
exception of myself and my youngest 
brother, were natives of Lebanon, Con¬ 
necticut. We two outsiders, Albert and 
I, were born in New York State, town of 
Pompey, and the County of Onondaga— 
which was thus named in honor of the 
once great tribe of Onondaga Indians. This 
honor was about all they had to show for 
their vast hunting grounds and fishing 

7 



8 


A PREFACE. 


privileges. They went on the war-path 
no more—they made baskets and tramped 
about the country, selling them. They 
were peaceable when they were sober,— 
they took no scalps, but all the cider 
they could get. They were said to be 
civilized, and even christianized, to a cer¬ 
tain point. They were still honest folks, 
and made no great professions. Per¬ 
haps they thought it was best not to be 
off with the old religion, before they 
were on with the new,—so kept up some 
of their old heathen rites and customs. In 
their own village, called Onondaga Castle, 
—near the city of Syracuse, they had once 
a year, a great “ pow-wow,” and sacrificed 
to the Indian God, Manitou, a dog, pure 
white, fat and sleek, and decorated with 
gay wampum and ribbons. They killed 
and then burned him, with solemn cere¬ 
monies, wild cries and much queer dancing. 


A PREFACE. 


9 


Pompey, though not lovely in its name, 
was a very beautiful, romantic and lofty 
spot to be born on. Below us and round 
about us were such hills as poets and 
painters love, and pack-horses and pedes¬ 
trians hate—and O, how cold it was in 
winter!—what terrific and tearing winds 
we had, and what mountain ranges of 
snow-banks ! So, we children were glad 
enough when our parents concluded to 
pull up stakes and move to a milder cli¬ 
mate,—though not far away—only down 
the hills, to the next town. But our poor 
father and mother were not so happy in 
going,—for under the pines, on one of 
those hills, they left the green graves of 
two of their dear flock. Our father, a 
physician, was also a farmer—and he set¬ 
tled us on a large farm, about half a mile 
from the pretty village of Fabius. 

Here were passed what seemed to me 


10 


A PREFACE. 


many and very long years—in fact the 
greater part of my childhood. 

Here I was a regular country girl—free 
as a greenwood bird, and almost as wild. 
At last, we pulled up stakes again—and 
for several years seemed to do little else 
than pull up, and drive down stakes, as 
though we had been a Gipsy family. 
Once we tried town life, in the city of 
Rochester. It was a pretty place—but I 
always longed for the country, though 
fond of my studies, in the old High 
School—and of my teachers—some of 
them. 

I longed for more room, more freedom, 
and better accommodation for my pets. 
At last, I had if not the country, some¬ 
thing quite as pleasant—a picturesque vil¬ 
lage, bright with flowers, shaded by grand 
trees, musical with running water, and 
hosts of song birds. 


A PREFACE. 


II 


This was New Brighton, Pennsylvania, 
on the Beaver River—near the Ohio. 

Here I went with my father and mother, 
my sister and youngest brother, to a spa¬ 
cious white cottage, among roses and 
lilacs and vines—a real “ our house,” no 
rented sham of a home, this time, and all 
planned and provided by two of the six 
noble sons and brothers of the family. 
Here was our last family-home, and it was 
a very happy and tranquil one, and to this 
day, the pretty place is to me very dear 
and sacred. 

Well, when my little nephews and 
nieces—children of the older brothers, 
visited us here, I used often to be called on 
to tell them stories of my own childhood, 
and I found them ready both to laugh and 
to cry—though after a cry, they must always 
have a bit of fun, to go to bed on. One 
frank little fellow once complimented me 


12 


A PREFACE. 


by saying—“ I like Aunt Grace best of all 
my aunts,—’cause she’s so foolish.” 

Some years after, I tried the same sto¬ 
ries on a dear family of boys and girls, in 
Washington, with such success that I 
went and printed them, and now I reprint 
them for you, who are—many of you—the 
children of my first kind little readers. 
You may not cry as easily as they cried— 
children are not so childish nowadays— 
but I do hope you will laugh as heartily. 

Grace Greenwood. 


HISTORY OF MY PETS. 


KETURAH AND LONG TOM¬ 
CATS. 

The first pet, in whose history you 
would take any interest, came into my 
possession when I was about nine years 
old. I remember the day as plainly as I 
remember yesterday. I was going home 
from school, very sad and out of humor 
with myself, for I had been marked de¬ 
ficient in Geography, and had gone down 
to the very foot in the spelling-class. On 
the way I was obliged to pass a little old 
log-house, which stood near the road, and 



14 HISTORY OF MY PETS. 

which I generally ran by in a great hurry, 
as the woman who lived there had th^ 
name of being a scold and a sort of a 
witch. She certainly was a stout, ugly 
woman, who drank a great deal of cider, 
and sometimes beat her husband,—which 
was very cruel, as he was a mild, little 
man, and took good care of the baby while 
she went to mill. But that day I trudged 
along carelessly and slowly, for I was too 
unhappy to be afraid, even of that dread¬ 
ful woman. Yet I started, and felt my 
heart beat fast when she called out to me, 
“ Stop, little girl!” she said ; “ don’t you 
want this ’ere young cat ?” and held out a 
beautiful white kitten. I ran at once and 
caught it from her hands, thanking her as 
well as I could, and started for home, 
carefully covering pussy’s head with my 
pinafore, lest she should see where I took 
her, and so know the way back. She was 


KETURAH AND LONG TOM-CATS . 15 


rather uneasy, and scratched my arms a 
good deal;—but I did not mind that, I 
was so entirely happy in my new pet. 
When I reached home, and my mother 
looked more annoyed than pleased with 
the little stranger, and my father and bro¬ 
thers would take no particular notice of 
her, I thought they must be very hard¬ 
hearted indeed not to be moved by her 
beauty and innocence. My brother Wil¬ 
liam, however, who was very obliging, and 
quite a mechanic, made a nice little house, 
or “ cat-cote,” as he called it, in the back 
yard, and put in it some clean straw for 
her to lie on. I then gave her a plentiful 
supper of new milk, and put her to bed 
with my own hands. It was long before 
I could sleep myself that night, for think¬ 
ing of my pet. I remember I dreamed 
that little angels came to watch over me, 
as I had been told they would watch over 


16 HISTORY OF MY PETS. 

good children, but that, when they came 
near to my bedside, they all turned into 
white kittens and purred over my sleep. 

The next morning, I asked my mother 
for a name for pussy. She laughed and 
gave me “ Keturah,”—saying that it was a 
good Sunday name, but that I might call 
her Kitty, for short. 

Soon, I am happy to say, all the family 
grew to liking my pet very much, and I 
became exceedingly fond and proud of 
her. Every night when I returned from 
school I thoughc I could see an improve¬ 
ment in her, till I came to consider her a 
kitten of prodigious talent. I have seen 
many cats in my day, and I still think that 
Keturah was very bright. She could per¬ 
form a great many wonderful exploits,— 
such as playing hide and seek with me, all 
through the house, and lying on her back 
perfectly still, and pretending to be dead. 


KETURAH AND LONG TOM-CATS. 17 


I made her a little cloak, cap, and bonnet, 
and she would sit up straight, dressed in 
them, on a little chair, for all the world 
like some queer old woman. Once, after 
I had been to the menagerie, I made her a 
gay suit of clothes, and taught her to ride 
my brothers little dog, as I had seen the 
monkey ride the pony. She, in her turn, 
was very fond of me, and would follow me 
whenever she could. 

It happened that when Kitty was about 
a year old, and quite a sizable cat, I be¬ 
came very much interested in some relig¬ 
ious meetings which were held on every 
Wednesday evening in the village church, 
about half a mile from our house. I 
really enjoyed them very much, for I 
loved our minister, who was a good and 
kind man, and I always felt a better and 
happier child after hearing him preach, 
even though I did not understand all that 


18 HISTORY OF MY PETS. 

he said. One evening it chanced that 
nobody was going from our house; but 
my mother, who saw that I was sadly 
disappointed, gave me leave to go with a 
neighboring family, who never missed a 
meeting of the sort. But when 1 reached 
Deacon Wilson’s, I found that they were 
already gone. Yet, as it was not quite 
dark, I went on by myself, intending, if I 
did not overtake them, to go directly to 
their pew. I had not gone far before I 
found Kitty at my heels. I spoke as 
crossly as I could to her, and sent her 
back,—looking after her till she was out 
of sight. But, just as I reached the 
church, she came bounding over the fence 
and went trotting along before me. Now, 
what could I do ? I felt that it would be 
very wicked to take a cat to meeting, but 
I feared that if I left her outside she 
might be lost, or stolen, or killed. So I 


KETURAH AND LONG TOM-CATS. 19 

took her up under my cape, and went 
softly into church. I dared not carry her 
to Deacon Wilson’s pew, which was just 
before the pulpit, but sat down in the far¬ 
ther end of the first slip, behind a pillar, 
and with nobody near. 

I was very sorry to find that it was 
not our handsome, young minister that 
preached, but an old man and a stranger. 
His sermon may have been a fine one for 
the grown-up people, but it struck me as 
rather dull. I had been a-strawberrying 
that afternoon, and was sadly tired,—and 
the cat in my lap purred so drowsily, that 
I soon found my eyes closing, and my head 
nodding wisely to everything the minister 
said. I tried every way to keep awake, 
but it was of no use. I finally fell asleep, 
and slept as soundly as I ever slept in my 
life. 

When I awoke at last, I did not know 


20 


HISTORY OF MY PETS. 


where I was. All was dark around me, 
and there was a sound of rain without. 
The meeting was over, the people had all 
gone, without having seen me, and I was 
alone in the old church at midnight! 

As soon as I saw how it was, I set up a 
great cry, and shrieked and called at the 
top of my voice. But nobody heard 
me,—for the very good reason that no¬ 
body lived anywhere near. I will do 
Kitty the justice to say, that she showed 
no fear at this trying time, but purred and 
rubbed against me, as much as to say,— 
“ Keep a good heart, my little mistress ! ” 

O, ’t was a dreadful place in which to 
be, in the dark night!—There, where I 
had heard such awful things preached 
about, before our new minister came, who 
loved children too well to frighten them, 
but who chose rather to talk about our good 
Father in Heaven, and the dear Saviour, 


KETURAH AND LONG TOM-CATS. 21 


who took little children in his arms and 
blessed them. I thought of Him then, 
and when I had said my prayers I felt 
braver, and had courage enough to go 
and try the doo;*s; but all were locked 
fast. Then I sat down and cried more 
bitterly than ever, but Kitty purred cheer¬ 
fully all the time. 

At last I remembered that I had seen 
one of the back windows open that even¬ 
ing,-—perhaps I might get out through 
that. So I groped my way up the broad 
aisle, breathing hard with awe and fear. 
As I was passing the pulpit, there came a 
clap of thunder which jarred the whole 
building, and the great red Bible, which 
lay on the black velvet cushions of the 
desk, fell right at my feet! I came near 
falling myself, I was so dreadfully scared ; 
but I made my way to the window, which 
I found was open by the rain beating in. 


22 


HISTORY OF MY PETS. 


But though I stretched myself up on tip¬ 
toe, I could not quite reach the sill. Then 
I went back by the pulpit and got the big 
Bible, which I placed on the floor edge¬ 
ways against the wall, and by that help I 
clambered to the window. I feared I was 
a great sinner to make such use of the 
Bible, and such a splendid book too, but 
I could not help it. I put Kitty out first, 
and then swung myself down. It rained 
a little, and was so dark that I could see 
nothing but my white kitten, who ran 
along before me, and was both a lantern 
and a guide. I hardly know how I got 
home, but there I found myself at last. 
All was still, but I soon roused the whole 
house ; for, when the danger and trouble 
were over, I cried the loudest with fright 
and cold. My mother had supposed that 
Deacon Wilson’s family had kept me for 


KETURAH AND LONG TOM-CATS. 23 


the night, as I often stayed with them, 
and had felt no anxiety for me. 

Dear mother !—I remember how she 
took off my dripping clothes, and made 
me some warm drink, and put me snugly 
to bed, and laughed and cried, as she 
listened to my adventures, and kissed me 
and comforted me till I fell asleep. Nor 
was Kitty forgotten, but was fed and put 
as cosily to bed as her poor mistress. 

The next morning I awoke with a 
dreadful headache, and when I tried to 
rise I found I could not stand. I do not 
remember much more, except that my 
father, who was a physician, came and 
felt my pulse, and said I had a high fever, 
brought on by the fright and exposure of 
the night previous. I was very ill in¬ 
deed for three or four weeks, and all that 
time my faithful Kitty stayed by the side 
of my bed. She could be kept out of 


24 


HISTORY OF MY PETS . 


the room but a few minutes during the 
day, and mewed pitiously when they put 
her in her little house at night. My 
friends said that it was really very affect¬ 
ing to see her love and devotion ; but I 
knew very little about it, as I was out of 
my head, or in a stupor, most of the time. 
Yet I remember how the good creature 
frolicked about me the first time I was 
placed in an armchair, and wheeled out 
into the dining-room to take breakfast 
with the family : and when, about a week 
later, my brother Charles took me in his 
strong arms and carried me out into the 
garden, how she ran up and down the' 
walks, half crazy with delight, and danced 
along sideways, and jumped out at us 

from behind currant-bushes, in a most 

* 

cunning and startling manner. 

I remembered now how strange the gar¬ 
den looked—how changed from what I 


KETURAH AND LONG TOM-CATS. 25 

had last seen it. The roses were all, all 
gone, and the China-asters and marigolds 
were in bloom. When my brother 
passed with me through the corn and 
beans, I wondered he did not get lost, they 
were grown so thick and high. 

It was in the autumn after this sickness 
that one afternoon I was sitting under the 
shade of a favorite apple tree, reading 
Mrs. Sherwood’s sweet story of “Little 
Henry and His Bearer.” I remember 
how I cried over it, grieving for poor 
Henry and his dear teacher. Ah, I little 
thought how soon my tears must flow for 
myself and my Kitty. It was then that 
my sister came to me, looking sadly trou¬ 
bled, to tell me the news. A certain mis¬ 
chievous boy then staying with us had 
been amusing himself by dropping Kitty 
from a high window and seeing her turn 
somersets in the air, and alight on her feet 


2 6 


HISTORY OF MY PETS. 


unhurt. But at last, becoming tired or 
dizzy, she had fallen on her back and bro¬ 
ken the spine, just below her shoulders. 
I ran at once to where she lay on the turf, 
moaning in her pain. I sat down beside 
her and cried as though my heart would 
break. There I stayed till evening, when 
my mother had kitty taken up very gently, 
carried into the house, and laid on a soft 
cushion. Then my father carefully ex¬ 
amined her hurt. He shook his head, 
said she could not possibly get well, and 
that she should be put out of her misery 
at once. But I begged that she might be 
allowed to live till the next day. I did 
not eat much supper that night, or break¬ 
fast in the morning, but grieved inces¬ 
santly for her who had been to me a fast 
friend, in sickness as in health. 

About nine o’clock of a pleasant Sep¬ 
tember morning, my brothers came and 


KETURAH AND LONG TOM-CATS 2? 

held a council round poor Kitty, who was 
lying on a cushion in my lap, moaning 
with every breath ; and they decided that, 
out of pity for her suffering, they must put 
her to death. The next question was, how 
was this to be done. “ Cut her head off 
with the axe,” said my brother Charles, 
trying to look very manly and stern, with 
his lip quivering all the while. But my 
brother William, who had just been read¬ 
ing a History of the French Revolution, 
and how they took off the heads of the 
people with a machine called the guillo¬ 
tine, suggested that the straw-cutter in the 
barn would do the work as well as the axe, 
and not be so painful for the executioner. 
This was agreed to by all present. 

Weeping harder than ever, I then took 
a last leave of my dear pet, my good and 
loving and beautiful Kitty. They took 
her to the guillotine, while I ran and shut 


28 


HISTORY OF MY PETS. 


myself up in a dark closet, and stopped 
my ears till they came and told me that 
all was over. 

The next time I saw my poor pet, she 
was lying in a candle box, ready for bu¬ 
rial. For a pall we used a black silk apron. 
They had bound Kitty’s head on very 
cleverly with bandages and washed all the 
blood off from her white breast. Clover 
blossoms were scattered over her, and a 
green sprig of catnip was placed between 
her paws. My youngest brother, Albert, 
drew her on his little wagon to the grave, 
which was dug under a large elm tree in a 
corner of the yard. The next day I 
planted over her a shrub called the “ pussy 
willow.” 

After that I had many pet kittens, but 
none that ever quite filled the place of 
poor Keturah. Yet there was one who, 
though not so lovely or noble as she, has' 


KETURAH AND LONG TOM-CATS. 2g 

managed to make himself remembered 
through all these years. This was a certain 
sleek, slender, but powerful, brindled cat, 
who, when full-grown, became known in 
all the country round as “ Long Tom.” 
He was exceedingly active, cunning, and 
mischievous ; a great climber, a mighty 
hunter of mice, and, I regret to say, of 
birds, and too much given to vagabondiz¬ 
ing and lawlessness. He respected nei¬ 
ther our persons nor our property. He 
would crowd himself into our father’s best 
hat and go to sleep there, and would 
mount up on mother’s work-table and 
play the mischief with all her spools and 
balls of yarn. And he would steal—oh, 
how he would steal! Once it was discov¬ 
ered that he was opening the pantry door 
at night by jumping up and pressing his 
paw on the old-fashioned latch ; this done, 
he would enter and help himself to cold 


30 


HISTORY OF MY PETS. 


chicken—the breast, if you please ! and 
fresh cream. By the way, just under this 
pantry window lived a queer old pet, or 
rather pensioner, of my mother—a toad, 
quite tame, but even uglier than toads 
usually are, for he had in some way lost 
one eye. Yet having a commodious hole, 
and being fed daily with crumbs from the 
pantry, he would always have been happy 
but for Long Tom. That clever, bad 
cat had discovered that the poor creature 
could see only with one eye, and he used 
to steal softly up on the blind side and 
pounce on him ; appearing to enjoy ever 
so much poor Toady’s fright and sur¬ 
prise, as he frantically hopped into his 
hole. We finally succeeded in breaking 
Tom of this cruel trick, and the queer 
pensioner was left in peace, like a hermit 
in his cave, only coming out at my 
mother’s call for his rations, or to enjoy a 


KETURAH AND LONG TOM-CATS. 31 

little evening hop, or to sit on a cool 
stone, meditating and winking with his 
one eye at the moon. 

Long Tom dearly loved to surprise 
folks and animals. He knew—how I 
can’t tell—the hour when we children 
would be coming home from school 
across the fields, and he would go and 
hide behind some bush on our way, and 
leap out before us in a most terrifying 
manner. He delighted in climbing trees 
under which cows were reposing, or dogs 
taking an afternoon nap, and suddenly 
dropping down on them with a wild 
“Yow!” and a tail of alarming size. 
Once he got off a surprise which pleased 
us all. A big, quarrelsome dog belong¬ 
ing to one of our neighbors came swag¬ 
gering along one day, and attacked our 
peaceable pet spaniel. Long Tom, who 
was a friend of this little spaniel, was 


32 


HISTORY OF MY PETS. 


asleep in mother’s distracted work-basket, 
when the growling and yelping began. 
He woke full of fire and pluck, leaped 
through an open window over a high picket 
fence, and landed on the back of the cur, 
clawing and biting him, and frightening 
him awfully. The spaniel was saved, and 
barked bravely after her enemy, fast re¬ 
treating down the road, with Tom riding 
and still punishing him. 

When we moved from the farm we 
gave this cat to a good neighbor. I was 
very sorry to part with him, but I did not 
worry much about him. I knew he could 
take care of himself. If people failed to 
treat him kindly, he was just the fellow to 
turn gipsy or bandit—take to the woods 
and live on game. In the winter he would 
be sure to make himself at home in some 
farmer’s comfortable and mousey barn, un- 


KETURAH AND LONG TOM-CATS . 33 


til invited into the house, as such a comely 
cat was pretty sure to be. 

I still have a great partiality for the 
feline race, and respect the ancient Egyp¬ 
tians for their exalted ideas in regard to 
cats. They even considered them sacred 
animals, to be honored and cared for in life, 
and mourned and mummied in death. I do 
not go as far as that, but I think them, or 
some of them, very dear and interesting 
creatures, too often misunderstood and mal¬ 
treated. As for kittens, they are simply 
bewitching. I like nothing better than to 
sit quietly on a summer afternoon, or a 
winter evening, and watch their graceful 
gambols and mischievous frolic. I know 
it is not very improving to the mind, but 
I am not ashamed of the weakness. 


34 


HISTORY OF MY PETS. 


SAM THE ROOSTER. 

The next pet which I remember to 
have had was a handsome little rooster, as 
gay and gallant a fellow as ever scratched 
up seed-corn, or garden-seeds, for the 
young pullets. 

Sam was a foundling; that is, he was 
cast off by an unnatural mother, who, from 
the time he was hatched, refused to own 
him. In this sad condition my father 
found him, and brought him to me. I 
took and put him in a basket of wool, 
where I kept him most of the time, for a 
week or two, feeding him regularly and 
taking excellent care of him. He grew 
and thrived, and finally became a great 
house-pet and favorite. My father was 
especially amused by him, but my mother, 
I am sorry to say, always considered him 


SAM THE ROOSTER. 


35 


rather troublesome, or, as she remarked, 
“ more plague than profit.” Now I think 
of it, it must have been rather trying to 
have had him pecking at a nice loat of 
bread, when it was set down before the fire 
to raise, and stalking over the kitchen 
table on baking days. I don’t suppose that 
the print of his feet made the prettiest sort 
of a stamp for cookies and pastry. 

Sam was intelligent, very. I think I 
never saw a fowl turn up his eye with such 
a cunning expression after a piece of mis¬ 
chief. He showed such a real affection for 
me, that I grew excessively fond of him. 
But ah, I was more fond than wise ? Un¬ 
der my doting care, he never learnt to 
roost like other chickens. I feared that 
something dreadful might happen to him 
if he went up into a high tree to sleep ; so 
when he grew too large to lie in his bas¬ 
ket of wool, I used to stow him away very 


36 HISTORY OF MY PETS. 

snugly in a leg of an old pair of trousers— 
I had found in the garret, and lay him in 
a warm place under a corner of the wood- 
house. In the morning I had always to 
take him out; and as I was not, I regret 
to say, a very early riser, the poor fellow 
never saw daylight till two or three hours 
after all the other cocks in the neighbor¬ 
hood were up and crowing. 

After Sam was full-grown, and had a 
“coat of many colors” and a tail of gay 
feathers, it was really very odd and laugh¬ 
able to see how every evening, just at sun¬ 
down, he would leave all the other fowls 
with whom he had strutted and crowed 
and fought all day, and come meekly to 
me, to be put to bed in the old trousers. 

But one morning, one sad, dark morn¬ 
ing, I found him strangely still when I 
went to release him from his nightly con¬ 
finement. He did not flutter, nor give a 


SAM THE ROOSTER. 


37 


sort of smothered crow, as he usually did. 
The leg of which I took hold to pull him 
out, seemed very cold and stiff. Alas, he 
he had but one leg! Alas, he had no head 
at all ! My poor Sam had been murdered 
and partly devoured by a cruel rat some 
time in the night ! 

I took the mangled body into the house, 
and sat down in a corner with it in my 
lap, and cried over it for a long time. It 
may seem very odd and ridiculous, but I 
really grieved for my dead pet; for I be¬ 
lieved he had loved and respected me as 
much as it is in a cockerel’s heart to love 
and respect any one. I knew I had loved 
him, and I reproached myself bitterly for 
never having allowed him to learn - to 
roost. 

At last, my brothers came to me, and 
very kindly and gently persuaded me to 
let Sam be buried out of my sight. They 


33 HISTORY OF MY PETS. 

dug a little grave under the elm-tree, by 
the side of Keturah, laid'the body down, 
wrapped in a large cabbage-leaf, filled in 
the earth, and turfed over the place. My 
brother Rufus, who knew a little Latin, 
printed on a shingle the words, u Hie ja- 
cet Samuelus ,”—which mean, Here lies 
Sam,—and placed it above where the 
head of the unfortunate fowl should have 
been. 

I missed this pet very much ; indeed, 
every body missed him after he was gone, 
and even now I cannot laugh heartily 
when I think of the morning when I 
found him dead. My poor rooster, who 
never roosted! 

A short time after this mournful event, 
my brother Rufus, who was something of 
a poet, wrote some lines for me, which he 
called a “ Lament.” This I then thought 
a very affecting, sweet, and consoling 



SAM THE ROOSTER. 





























. 























































. 






















SAM THE ROOSTER. 


39 


poem, but I have since been inclined to 
think that my brother was making sport 
of me and my feelings all the time. I 
found this same “ Lament ” the other day 
among some old papers, and as it is quite 
a curiosity, I will let you see it :— 

“ Full twenty suns have risen and set 
Since that day of tears and sighing, 
When I found thee dead, without a head, 

In the gory trousers lying. 

“ As thy foe did rob thee of a leg 
In his hunger and despite, 

An L. E. G. I give to thee, 

In song, dear Sam, to-night. 

“ Thy tail was full of feathers gay; 

Thy comb was red and fine; 

I hear no crow, where’er I go, 

One half so brave as thine. 

“ O, I mourn thee still, as on the morn 
When cold and stiff I found thee, 

And laid thee dead, without a head, 

The cabbage-leaf around thee!” 


40 


HISTORY OF MY PETS. 


TOBY THE HAWK. 

About the queerest pet that I ever had 
was a young hawk. My brother Rufus, 
who was a great sportsman, brought him 
home to me one night in spring. He 
had shot the mother-hawk, and found this 
young half-fledged one in the nest. I re¬ 
ceived the poor orphan with joy, for he 
was too small for me to feel any horror of 
him, though his family had long borne 
rather a bad name. I resolved that I 
would bring him up in the way he should 
go, so that when he v 7 as old he should 
not destroy chickens. At first, I kept 
him in a bird-cage, but after a while he 
grew too large for his quarters, and had to 
have a house built for him expressly. 1 let 
him learn to roost, but I tried to bring him 
up on vegetable diet. I found, however, 


TOBY THE HAWK. 


41 


that this would not do. He would eat 
bread and grain to be sure, but he did not 
thrive; lie looked very lean, and smaller 
than hawks of his. age should look. At 
last I was obliged to give up my fine idea 
of making an innocent dove, or a vege¬ 
tarian, out of the poor fellow, and one 
morning treated him to a slice of raw mut¬ 
ton. I remember how he flapped his 
wings and cawed with delight, and what 
a hearty meal he made of it. He grew 
very fat and glossy after this important 
change in his diet, and I became as proud 
of him as of any pet I ever had. But my 
mother, after a while, found fault with 
the great quantity of meat which he de¬ 
voured. She said that he eat more beef¬ 
steak than any other member of the family. 
Once, when I was thinking about this, and 
feeling a good deal troubled lest some day, 
when I was gone to school, they at home 


42 HISTORY OF MY PETS. 

might take a fancy to cut off the nead of 
my pet to save his board-bill, a bright 
thought came into my mind. There was 
running through our farm, at a short dis¬ 
tance from our house, a large mill-stream, 
along the banks of which lived and 
croaked a vast multitude of frogs. These 
animals are thought by hawks, as well as 
Frenchmen, very excellent eating. So, 
every morning, noon, and night, I took 
Toby on my shoulder, ran down to the 
mill-stream, and let him satisfy his appetite 
on all such frogs as were so silly as to stay 
out of the water and be caught. He was 
very quick and active,— would pounce 
upon a great, green croaker, and have him 
halved and quartered and hid away in a 
twinkling. I generally looked in another 
direction while he was at his meals,—it is 
not polite to keep your eye on people 
when they are eating, and then I couldn’t 


TOBY THE HAWK 


43 


help pitying the poor frogs. But I knew 
that hawks must live, and say what they 
might, my Toby never prowled about hen¬ 
coops to devour young chickens. I taught 
him better morals than that, and kept him 
so well fed that he was never tempted to 
such wickedness. I have since thought 
that, if we want people to do right, we 
must treat them as I treated my hawk ; 
for when we think a man steals because 
his heart is full of sin, it may be only be¬ 
cause his stomach is empty of food. 

When Toby had finished his meal, he 
would wipe his beak with his wing, mount 
on my shoulder, and ride home again; 
sometimes, when it was a very warm day 
and he had dined more heartily than usual, 
he would fall asleep during the ride, still 
holding on to his place with his long, sharp 
claws. Sometimes I would come home 
with my apron torn and blood-stained on the 


44 


HISTORY OF MY PETS. 


shoulder, and then my mother would scold 
me a little and laugh at me a great deal. 
I would blush and hang my head and cry, 
but still cling to my strange pet; and when 
he got full grown and had wide, strong 
wings, and a great, crooked beak that 
every body else was afraid of, I was still 
his warm friend and his humble servant; 
still carried him to his meals three times 
a day, shut him into his house every night, 
and let him out every morning. Such a 
life as that bird led me ! 

Toby was perfectly tame, and never at¬ 
tempted to fly beyond the yard. I thought 
this was because he loved me too well to 
leave me ; but my brothers, to whom he 
was rather cross, said it was because he 
was a stupid fowl. Of course they only 
wanted to tease me. .1 said that Toby 
was rough, but honest; that it was true 
he did not make a display of his talents 



TOBY THE HAWK. 45 

like some folks, but that I had faith to 
believe that, some time before he died, he 
would prove himself to them all to be a 
bird of good feelings and great intelli¬ 
gence. 

Finally the time came for Toby to be 
respected as he deserved. One autumn 
night I had him with me in the sitting- 
room, where I played with him and let 
him perch on my arm till it was quite late. 
Some of the neighbors were in, and the 
whole circle told ghost-stories, and talked 
about dreams, and warnings, and awful 
murders, till I was half frightened out of 
my wits ; so that, when I went to put my 
sleepy hawk into his little house, I really 
dared not go into the dark, but stopped in 
the entry, and left him to roost for one 
night on the hat-rack, saying nothing to 
anyone. Now it happened that one of 
my younger brothers, beeame after a se- 


46 HISTORY OF MY PETS. 

vere illness, a somnambulist,—that means 
one who walks in sleep. When about 
thirteen or fourteen years of age, he would 
often rise in the middle of the night, dress, 
if no one was awake to prevent it, steal 
out of the house and ramble about in fields 
and woods—always returning safe, and still 
in a sound sleep. Sometimes he would 
take the horse from the stable, saddle and 
bridle him, and have a wild gallop in the 
moonlight. Sometimes he would drive 
the cows home from pasture, or let the 
sheep out of the pen. Sometimes he 
would wrap himself in a sheet, glide about 
the house, and appear at our bedsides like 
a ghost. Pleasant—wasn’t it ? But in 
the morning he had no recollection of 
these things. Of course, we were very 
anxious about him, and tried to keep a 
constant watch over him, but he would 
sometimes manage to escape from all our 



tt" rag ra 


—--jy 

# •»§ 


TOBY THE HAWK, 



























1 
























. i fl 

! 

HI I i 1 

















TOBY THE HAWK. 


4 7 


care. Well, that night there was suddenly 
a violent outcry set up in the entry. It 
was Toby, who shrieked and flapped his 
wings till he woke my father, who dressed 
and went down stairs to see what was the 
matter. He found the door wide open, 
and the hawk sitting uneasily on his perch, 
looking frightened and indignant, with all 
his feathers raised. My father, at once 
suspecting what had happened, ran up to 
the chamber of the young “ Sleep-walker” 
and found his bed empty ; he then roused 
my elder brothers, and, having lit a lantern, 
they all started off in pursuit of the poor 
boy. They searched through the yard, 
garden, and orchard, but all in vain. Sud¬ 
denly they heard the saw-mill, which stood 
near, going. They knew that the owner 
never worked there at night, and supposed 
that it must be my brother, who had set 
the machinery in motion. So down they 


48 


HISTORY OF MV PETS. 


ran as fast as possible, and, sure enough, 
they found him there, all by himself. A 
large log had the night before been laid in 
its place ready for the morning, and on that 
log sat my brother, his large black eyes 
staring wide open, yet seeming to be fixed 
on nothing, and his face as pale as death. 
He seemed to have quite lost himself, for 
the end of the log on which he sat was 
fast approaching the saw. My father, with 
great presence of mind, stopped the ma¬ 
chinery, while one of my brothers caught 
the boy and pulled him from his perilous 
place. Another moment, and he would 
have been killed or horribly mangled by 
the cruel saw. He awoke with a scream 
of terror, and when he found where he was 
and was told how he came there, he was 
yet more terrified and cried bitterly. In¬ 
deed, he was much distressed by his adven¬ 
ture in dream-land, for some time ; but it 



TOBY THE HAWK. 49 

was a good thing, after all, for he never 
walked in his sleep again. 

As you would suppose, Toby, received 
much honor for so promptly giving the 
warning on that night. Everybody now 
acknowledged that he was a hawk of great 
talents, as well as talons. But alas ! he 
did not live long to enjoy the respect of 
his fellow-citizens. One afternoon that 
very autumn, I was sitting at play with 
my doll, under the thick shade of a maple- 
tree, in front of the house. On the fence 
near by sat Toby, lazily pluming his wing, 
and enjoying the pleasant, golden sun¬ 
shine,—now and then glancing round at 
me with a most knowing and patronizing 
look. Suddenly, there was the sharp crack 
of a gun fired near, and Toby fell flutter¬ 
ing to the ground. A stupid sportsman 
had taken him for a wild hawk, and shot 
him in the midst of his peaceful and inno- 


50 HISTORY OF MY PETS. 

cent enjoyment. He was wounded in a 
number of places, and was dying fast when 
I reached him. Yet he seemed to know 
me, and looked up into my face so piteous¬ 
ly, that I sat down by him, as I had sat 
down by poor Keturah, and cried aloud. 
Soon the sportsman, who was a stranger, 
came leaping over the fence to bag his 
game. When he found what he had done, 
he said he was very sorry, and stooped 
down to examine the wounds made by his 
shot. Then Toby roused himself, and 
caught one of his fingers in his beak, biting 
it almost to the bone. The man cried out 
with the pain, and tried to shake him off, 
but Toby still held on fiercely and stoutly, 
and held on till he was dead. Then his 
ruffled wing grew smooth, his head fell 
back, his beak parted and let go the bleed¬ 
ing finger of his enemy. 

I did not want the man hurt, for he had 


TOBY THE HAWK . 


51 


shot my pet under a mistake, but I was 
not sorry to see Toby die like a hero. We 
laid him with the pets who had gone be¬ 
fore. Some were lovelier in their lives, 
but none more lamented when dead. I 
will venture to say that he was the first of 
his race who ever departed with a clean 
conscience as regarded poultry. No care¬ 
ful mother-hen cackled with delight on the 
day he died,—no pert young rooster flapped 
his wings and crowed over his grave. But 
I must say, I don’t think that the frogs 
mourned for him. I thought that they 
were holding a jubilee that night ; the old 
ones croaked so loud, and the young ones 
sung so merrily, that I wished the noisy 
green creatures all quietly doing brown, 
on some Frenchman’s gridiron. 

Yet I felt that this was not an amiable 
and humane wish, and soon after I was con¬ 
vinced that even frogs have some good 


52 HISTORY OF MY PETS. 

points, beside their edible hind legs. I 
was convinced by almost a miracle, as you 
will see, by my next story. 


PHIBBY THE FROG. 

How odd it was! Such a funny little 
event! I have often told the story to one 
little chick of a child, but it has always 
seemed to me too absurd to put into print; 
yet you see I have finally made up my 
mind to tell you all about it. 

I was eight years old that summer,— 
eight, a going on ” nine, as we country chil¬ 
dren used to say. It was the term during 
which I commenced the study of geog¬ 
raphy,—dear old Peter Parley’s charming 
little book, which first formally introduced 
me to the great world we live in, or rather 
on, and first made me realize that it was 



PHIBBY THE FROG. 53 

round, and all that. It was on an afternoon 
in the early part of July, I am not sure, 
though, that it wasn’t in the latter part of 
June, that it happened,—the singular event 
I am going to tell you about. It had been 
dreadfully hot all day,—so hot that the 
very hillsides seemed to pant, like the sides 
of the poor cattle, in the parched pastures. 
I thought it extremely lucky that my 
geography lesson that day was in Green¬ 
land. I don’t believe I could have been 
equal to a lesson in Africa. I remember 
sayingto Bob Linn, at recess, that I wished 
I was a seal, riding on an iceberg; and he 
said he wished he was a white bear, climb¬ 
ing the North Pole and sliding down back¬ 
wards. That was so like Bob Linn. He 
used to climb the lightning-rod of the 
meeting-house, and ring the bell at very 
improper hours, till Deacon Jones tarred 
it,—the rod, not the bell. I wonder where 


54 


HISTORY OF MY PETS. 


he is now,—Bob, not the Deacon. He 
was the first schoolmate to whom I told 
what had happened that July, or June 
afternoon. As I think I have said, it was 
a very hot day; but, just before school 
was dismissed, there came up a refreshing 
thunder-shower. How we revived, in the 
cool, moist air, like the poor, wilted field- 
flowers ! The shrunken stream in the glen, 
grew, and took heart, and went tumbling 
down the rocks, in its old, headlong spring- 
fashion. The cattle stopped panting and 
whisking off flies, and stood dripping 
and chewing, while a smile of brightening 
greenness ran over the faded face of the 
pasture. 

I had a half-mile walk home. One of 
the girls who lived nearer the school-house 
invited me to stay all night with her; but 
I thought that I, who was old enough to 
study about oceans, avalanches, earth- 



imifffP rriutimmM mmmm( 


PHIBBY THE FROG 







































































PHIBBY THE FROG . 


55 


quakes, and volcanos, ought not to be 
afraid of such rain, thunder, and lightning 
as we had in our free, enlightened, and 
Christian country. So I thanked her 
“no,” which was very well; for, if I had 
stayed, that wouldn’t have happened that 
did happen,—or, at least, I wouldn’t have 
seen it. Well, I set out for home, bravely 
breasting the wind, and really enjoying 
the rain, in spite of my new sun-bonnet 
getting every minute more limp and flappy. 

I remember wondering if it was raining, 
at that very time in China, right under my 
feet. If so, study on it as I would, I 
couldn’t make it seem any other way than 
that it rained upwards there. I was think¬ 
ing of such things, and not expecting any- v 
thing particular to happen, till I got in 
sight of home, past the old Phillips place, 
where it did happen. It was here I first 
noticed over my head the blackest of 


56 HISTORY OF MY PETS. 

black clouds, big with barrels of rain. 
I started into a run, to get out of the way, 
when—now it is coming, what I was 
going to relate! No, I must first tell you 
that there was near me then no house, nor 
tree, nor even bush that it could have 
dropped or jumped off from. Now it 
really is coming! Well, right, down be¬ 
fore my eyes, straight out of that cloud, 
fell —a little frog!! There, it is out! I 
like to take people by surprise, and not, 
like some story-tellers, drag my listeners 
all “round Robin Hood’s barn” before I 
get at a thing. 

I stood stock still for a moment, in 
wonder and astonishment. Then, half 
afraid, I picked the little creature up out 
of the sand. He was of a greenish-brown, 
brightening to gold in the sun. His limbs 
were extremely delicate, and his eyes were 
as bright as diamonds. I carried him 


PHIBBY THE FROG. 


57 


gently home, and ran with him in the 
greatest excitement to my mother, exclaim¬ 
ing, “O mamma! do look at this lovely 
little frog! It isn’t human! It came 
right down to me out of the sky. I do 
believe it is a sort of angel-frog.” 

My mother laughed, but, on being told 
the story of the little creature’s descent 
from the clouds, said it was a great marvel 
and mystery where he came from, and how 
he got there. Glad of a chance to display 
my learning, I said, “Why, mamma, you 
know the stars are round balls like our 
earth, swinging in the air ; and maybe he 
was whirled off one of them, or maybe he 
jumped off the horn of the moon last 
night, and has been travelling ever since. 
Poor little fellow ! how tired he must be !” 

When my father came in, he gave it as 
his opinion that the frog had been carried 
up by a water-spout, from a lake about 


58 HISTORY OF MY PETS. 

twenty miles distant, kept up and borne 
along by currents of air. At all events, 
he was a hero and an adventurer, and I re¬ 
solved to keep him as a curiosity. So I 
put him in a large rain-water trough, at 
at the back of the house, where he lived 
in apparent content, the monarch of all 
he surveyed. During dry times, I kept 
him well supplied with fresh water from 
the well, and I frequently threw in broad 
dock-leaves, for him to take shelter under 
from the heat. He soon grew to know 
me, and would actually come at my call 
from the farthest end of the trough, and 
hop out onto my hand. He was very shy of 
others, and I was not sorry, for I wanted 
all his affection, and was proud of his dis¬ 
cernment. This was thought so singular 
that I was often sent out with visitors, to 
show off my pet. I don’t believe that the 
keeper of the hippopotamus can be proud- 


PHIBBY THE FROG. 59 

er of his mud-loving monster than I was 
of my lively little friend. 

I wanted a name for him and my mother 
said : “ As he is an amphibian—that is, a 
creature that is as much at home in the 
water as on land, you can call him 
Phibby.” I did so when I introduced him 
to visitors and explained the queer name, 
but commonly I called him Froggy. 

My brother Will built for him a neat 
little ship, on which he sailed about, being 
captain, crew* cabin-boy, and all. One 
morning while I was playing with him, he 
hopped down the hatchway. I shut him 
into the little cabin, and was careless 
enough to forget to let him out before going 
to school. When I came home, I found 
him lying on the cabin floor, still and life¬ 
less ! He had been suffocated in the close, 
hot air. I am not ashamed to own that I 
cried heartily over the poor limp little 


6o 


HISTORY OF MY PETS. 


body. I wrapped it tenderly in a plantain- 
leaf, and laid it beside iny last lost kitty. 

In the evening, when I told my father 
of my loss, he by no means made light of 
it, knowing my pet was no common frog. 

“ Poor fellow !” he said, “ it was as bad 
for him as the ‘ Black Hole of Calcutta.’” 
I didn’t know what that meant then ; I 
know now, but haven’t time to tell you. 
Besides it isn’t a pleasant story. Then 
papa added, u Perhaps, after all, it is only 
a case of suspended animation. Your 
little frog may have only been in a swoon. 
If you open his grave in the morning, you 
may fmd that he has come to.” 

That was a pleasant hope to go to bed 
on, and you may believe I rose bright and 
early in the morning, to run with my 
shingle-spade to the cemetery of all my 
dead pets. With an anxious heart, I re¬ 
moved the earth, and unfolded the plant- 


PH IBB Y THE FROG. 


6l 


ain-leaf. Sure enough, there was my pet, 
“ alive and kicking !” He hopped out on 
to a full-blown dandelion, and looked 
about him as pert and knowing as ever. 
I caught him up, and ran with him into 
the house, crying, “ Froggy is resurrected ! 
—Froggy is resurrected .!” 

After this, nothing especial happened to 
him for some months. He grew in intel¬ 
ligence and lively graces, but not in size, 
remaining precisely the same pretty, tiny 
creature as at the first. This fairy-like, 
unchangeable youthfulness, and his little, 
piping note, “ most musical, most melan¬ 
choly,” made me still half believe that he 
was a frog of another and a higher race 
than ours,—star-born, or a native of cloud- 
land. After the frosty nights of Novem¬ 
ber, I used to remove the thin ice from 
his tank, so that he could swim freely, and 
he did not seem to suffer much from the 


62 


HISTORY OF MY PETS. 


rigors of the season. But, on the first 
morning in December, I found to my 
grief that the shallow water in the trough 
was frozen solid, and—Froggy with it ! I 
could see him tightly imprisoned in the 
clear ice, about midway from the surface. 
His limbs were extended, showing that he 
had bravely kicked against his hard fate to 
the last. I gave him up, then, and went 
into the house disconsolate. But my 
mother was still hopeful. Under her 
directions I heated the kitchen poker, and 
with it thawed out a block of ice some 
inches square, with my poor pet in the 
centre. This I placed on the hearth before 
the fire. You see I did not dare to break 
the ice, for fear of breaking with it the frozen 
limbs of my pet. I watched the melt¬ 
ing of the block with affectionate interest. 
It was slow work, but it came to an end 
at last, and Froggy was free. Still, for a 


PH IB BY THE FROG. 63 

time he lay motionless, and I feared he was 
dead. Then, one limb twitched, then 
another, and then he was alive all over, 
and began to hop away from the fire. I 
rejoiced over him with great joy, put him 
in a tub of water, with a piece of bark to 
sail on, and began laying plans for keep¬ 
ing him in-doors all winter. But my 
mother said it was impossible,—that there 
was but one way to save the life of my pet, 
and that was to take him down to the mill- 
stream and fling him in. There the water 
was deep, and the frogs lived under the 
ice, cosy and comfortable all'winter. 

“ O mamma,” I said, “ I can’t make up 
my mind to do that. He would miss me 
so, and I don’t believe that the other frogs 
would treat him well. He isn’t of their 
kind, you know.” 

“ I think it more likely,” she answered, 
“ that they will have sense enough to per- 


64 HISTORY OF MY PETS. 

ceive his superiority, and will treat him ac¬ 
cordingly,—perhaps make a Prince or 
President of him. He will come among 
them as a distinguished stranger,—a trav¬ 
elled adventurer.” 

This consoled and determined me. I 
put on my cloak and hood, and set out at 
once, for fear I should lose courage. I 
ran all the way, talking to my funny little 
pet, and saying, I doubt not, many silly 
things, but which, I am sure, went no 
further. 

When I came to the bank of the stream, 
I thought perhaps he would hop in of his 
own accord. I bade him farewell, and 
held him out over the water. But I sup¬ 
pose it looked big and dreary to him, for 
he did not stir. I even fancied that he 
looked at me reproachfully for thinking 
that he would be so willing to leave me. 
I was obliged to give him a toss, and the 


MILLY THE PONY , AND CARLO THE DOG . 65 

next instant he disappeared forever under 
the dark, wintry waters, among the reeds 
and rushes. 

So now you know all I know about my 
pet from the clouds. 


MILLY THE PONY, AND CARLO 
THE DOG. 

When I was about ten years old, I had 
two pets, of which I was equally fond, a 
gentle bay pony and a small pointer dog. 
I have always had a great affection for 
horses, and never knew what it was to be 
afraid of them, for they are to me exceed¬ 
ingly obliging and obedient. Some peo¬ 
ple think that I control them with a sort 
of animal magnetism. I only know that 
I treat them with kindness , which is, I 



66 


HISTORY OF MY PETS . 


believe, after all, the only magnetism 
necessary for one to use in this world. 
When I ride, I give my horse to under¬ 
stand that 1 expect him to behave very 
handsomely, like the gentleman I take him 
to be, and he never disappoints me. 

Our Milly was a great favorite with all 
the family, but with the children especially. 
She was not very handsome or remarkably 
fleet, but was easily managed, and even in 
her gait. I loved her dearly, and we were 
on the best terms with each other. I was 
in the habit of going into the pasture 
where she fed, mounting her from the 
fence or a stump, and riding about the 
field, often without saddle or bridle. You 
will see by this that I was a sad romp. 
Milly seemed to enjoy the sport fully as 
much as I, and would arch her neck, and 
toss her mane, and gallop up and down 
the little hills in the pasture, now and then 


A/ILLY THE PONY, AND CARLO THE DOG. 67 

glancing round at me playfully, as much 
as to say, “ Are n’t we having times !” 

Finally, I began to practice riding stand¬ 
ing upright, as I had seen the circus per¬ 
formers do, for I thought it was time I 
should do something to distinguish myself. 
After a few tumbles on to the soft clover, 
which did me no sort of harm, I became 
quite accomplished that way. I was at 
that age as quick and active as a cat, and 
could save myself from a fall after I had 
lost my balance and seemed half-way to 
the ground. I remember that my brother 
William was very ambitious to rival me 
in my exploits; but as he was unfortun¬ 
ately rather fat and heavy, he did a greater 
business in turning somersets from the 
back of the pony than in any other way. 
But these were quite as amusing as any 
other part of the performances. We some¬ 
times had quite a good audience of the 


68 


HISTORY OF MY PETS. 


neighbors’ children, and our schoolmates, 
but we never invited our parents to attend 
the exhibition. We thought that on some 
accounts it was best they should know 
nothing about it. 

In addition to the “ring performances,” 
I gave riding lessons to my youngest 
brother, Albert, who was then quite a lit¬ 
tle boy. He used to mount Milly behind 
me, and behind him always sat one of our 
chief pets, and our constant playmate, 
Carlo, a small black-and-white pointer. 
One afternoon, I remember, we were all 
riding down the long, shady lane which 
led from the pasture to the house, when a 
mischievous boy sprang suddenly out from 
a corner of the fence, and shouted at Mil¬ 
ly. I never knew her frightened before, 
but this time she gave a loud snort, and 
reared up almost straight in the air. As 
there was neither saddle nor bridle for us 


MILLY THE PONY , AND CARLO THE DOG . 69 

to hold on by, we all three slid off back¬ 
ward into the dust, or rather the mud, for 
it had been raining that afternoon. Poor 
Carlo was most hurt, as my brother and I 
fell on him. He set up a terrible yelping, 
and my little brother cried somewhat from 
fright. Milly turned and looked at us a 
moment to see how much harm was done, 
and then started off at full speed after the 
boy, chasing him down the lane. He ran 
like a fox when he heard Milly galloping 
fast behind him, and when he looked 
round and saw her close upon him, with 
her ears laid back, her mouth open, and 
her long mane flying in the wind, he 
screamed with terror, and dropped as 
though he were dead. She did not stop, 
but leaped clear over him as he lay on 
the ground. Then she turned, went up 
to him, quietly lifted the old straw hat 
from his head, and came trotting back to 


70 


HISTORY OF MY PETS . 


us, swinging it in her teeth. We thought 
that was a very cunning trick of Mlily’s. 

Now it happened that I had on that 
day a nice new dress, which I had sadly v 
soiled by my fall from the pony ; so that 
when I reached home my mother was 
greatly displeased. I suppose I made a 
very odd appearance. I was swinging my 
bonnet in my hand, for I had a natural 
dislike to any sort of covering for the 
head. My thick, dark hair had become 
unbraided and was blowing over my eyes. 

I was never very fair in complexion, and 
my face, neck, and arms had become com¬ 
pletely browned by that summer’s expos¬ 
ure. My mother took me by the shoulder, 
set me down in a chair, not very gently, 
and looked at me with a real frown on. 
her sweet face. She told me in plain 
terms that I was an idle, careless child ! 

I put my finger in one corner of my 





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MILLY THE PONY AND CARLO THE DOG 




































































MILLY THE PONY , AND CARLO THE DOG. 71 

mouth, and swung my foot back and forth. 
She said I was a great romp ! I pouted 
my lip, and drew down mv black eye¬ 
brows. She said I was more like a wild 
young squaw, than a white girl! Now 
this was too much ; it was what I called 
“ twitting upon facts”; and ’twas not the 
first time that the delicate question of my 
complexion had been touched upon with¬ 
out due regard for my feelings. I was not 
to blame for being dark,—I did not make 
myself,—I had seen fairer women than my 
mother. I felt that what she said was 
neither more nor less than an insult, and 
when she went out to see about supper, 
and left me alone, I brooded over her 
words, growing more and more out of 
humor, till my naughty heart became so 
hot and big with anger that it almost 
choked me. At last, I bit my lip and 
looked very stern, for I had made up my 


72 HISTORY OF MY PETS. 

mind to something great. Before I let 
you know what this was, I must remind 
you that the Onondaga tribe of Indians 
had their village not many miles from us. 
Every few months parties of them came 
about with baskets and mats to sell. A 
company of five or six had been to our 
house that very morning, and I knew that 
they had their encampment in our woods, 
about half a mile distant. These I knew 
very well, and had quite a liking for them, 
never thinking of being afraid of them, as 
they always seemed kind and peaceable. 

To them I resolved to go in my trou¬ 
ble. They would teach me to weave bas¬ 
kets, to fish, and to shoot with the bow 
and arrow. They would not make me 
study, nor wear bonnets, and they would 
never find fault with my dark complexion. 

I remember to this day how softly and 
slily I slid out of the house that evening. 


MILL V ‘THE PONY, AND CARLO THE DOG . 73 

I never stopped once, nor looked round, 
but ran swiftly till I reached the woods. 
I did not know which way to go to find 
the encampment, but wandered about in 
the gathering darkness, till I saw a light 
glimmering through the trees at some dis¬ 
tance. I made my way through the 
bushes and brambles, and after a while 
came upon my copper-colored, friends. 
In a very pretty place, down in a hollow, 
they had built them some wigwams with 
maple saplings, covered with hemlock- 
boughs. There were in the group two 
Indians, two squaws, and a boy about 
fourteen years old. But I must not for¬ 
get the baby, or rather papoose, who was 
lying in a sort of cradle, made of a large, 
hollow piece of bark, which was hung 
from the branch of a tree, by pieces of the 
wild grape-vine. The young squaw, its 
mother, was swinging it back and forth, 


74 HISTORY OF MY PETS. 

now far into the dark shadows of the pine 
and hemlock, now out into the warm fire¬ 
light, and chanting to the child some In¬ 
dian lullaby. The men sat on a log, 
smoking gravely and silently ; while the 
boy lay on the ground, playing lazily with 
a great yellow hound, which looked mean 
and starved, like most Indian dogs. But 
I remember I was glad for him, that he 
was yellow and lean, not white and being 
fatted up for a “burnt offering,” at the 
next big Pow-wow. The old squaw was 
cooking the supper in a large iron pot, 
over a fire built among a pile of stones. 

For some time, I did not dare to go 
forward, but at last I went up to the old 
squaw, and looking up into her good-hu¬ 
mored face, said, “ I am come to live 
with you, and learn to make baskets, for I 
don’t like my home.” She did not say any¬ 
thing to me, but made some exclamation 


MILLY THE PONY, AND CARLO THE DOG. 7 $ 

in her own language, and the others came 
crowding round. The boy laughed, shook 
me by the hand, and said I was a brave 
girl; but the old Indian grinned horribly 
and laid his hand on my forehead, say¬ 
ing, “ What a pretty head to scalp ! ” I 
screamed and hid my face in the young 
squaw’s blue cloth skirt. She spoke sooth¬ 
ingly, and told me not to be afraid, for no¬ 
body would hurt me. She said the old 
gentleman was just teasing me. And he 
was a grandpapa! She then took me to 
her wigwam, where I sat down and tried 
to make myself at home. But somehow 
I didn’t feel quite comfortable. After a 
while, the old squaw took off the pot, and 
called us to supper. This was succotash, 
that is, a dish of corn and beans, cooked 
with salt pork. We all sat down on the 
ground near the fire, and eat out of great 
wooden bowls, with wooden spoons, which 


76 HISTORY OF MY PETS. 

I must say tasted rather too strong of the 
pine. But I did not say so then,—by no 
means,—but eat a great deal more than I 
wanted, and pretended to relish it, for 
fear they would think me ill bred. I 
would not have had them know but that 
I thought their supper served in the very 
best style, and by perfectly polite and gen¬ 
teel people. I was a little shocked, how¬ 
ever, by one incident during the meal. 
While the young squaw was helping her 
husband for the third or fourth time, she 
accidentally dropped a little of the hot suc¬ 
cotash on his hand. He growled out like 
a dog, and struck her across the face with 
his spoon. I thought that she showed a 
most Christian spirit, for she hung her 
head and did not say any thing. I had 
heard of white wives behaving worse. 

When supper was over, the boy came 
and laid down at my feet, and talked with 


MILLY THE PONY , AND CARLO THE DOG . 77 

me about living in the woods. He said 
he pitied the poor white people for being 
shut up in houses all their days. For his 
part, he should die of such a dull life, he 
knew he should. He promised to ffach 
me how to shoot with the bow and arroWs, 
to snare partridges and rabbits, and many 
other things. He said he was afraid I 
was almost spoiled by living in the house 
and going to school, but he hoped that, if 
they took me away and gave me a new 
name, and dressed me properly, they 
might make something of me yet. Then 
I asked him what he was called, hoping 
that he had some grand Indian name, like 
Uncas, or Miantonimo, or Tushmalahah; 
but he said it was Peter. He was a pleas¬ 
ant fellow, and while he was talking with 
me I did not care about my home, but 
felt very brave and squaw-like, and began 
to thing about the fine belt of wampum, 


7 8 HISTORY OF MY PETS. 

and the head-dress of gay feathers, and 
the red leggins, and the yellow moccasins 
I was going to buy for myself, with the 
baskets I was going to learn to weave. 
But when he left me, and I went back to 
the wigwam and sat down on the hemlock 
boughs by myself, somehow I couldn't 
keep home out of my mind, I thought 
first of my mother, how she would miss 
the little brown face at the supper-table, 
and on the pillow, by the fair face of my 
blue-eyed sister. I thought of my young 
brother, Albert, crying himself to sleep, 
because I was lost. I thought of the 
other dear brothers and my father search¬ 
ing through the orchard and barn, and 
going with lights to look in the mill-stream. 
Again, I thought of my mother, how, 
when she feared I was drowned, she would 
cry bitterly, and be very sorry for what 
she had said about my dark complexion. 


MILLY THE PONY, AND CARLO THE DOG . 79 

Then I thought of myself, how I must 
sleep on the hard ground, with nothing 
but hemlock-boughs for covering, and no¬ 
body to tuck me up. What if it should 
storm before morning, and the high tree 
above me should be struck by lightning! 
What if the old Indian should not be a 
tame savage after all, but should take a 
fancy to set up the war-whoop, and come 
and scalp me in the middle of the night! 

The bell in the village church rang for 
nine. This was the hour for evening de¬ 
votions at home. I looked round to see 
if my new friends were preparing for wor¬ 
ship. But the old Indian was already fast 
asleep, and as for the younger one, I 
feared that a man who indulged himself 
in beating his wife with a wooden spoon 
would hardly be likely r to lead in family 
prayers. Upon the whole, I concluded 
I was among rather a heathenish set. 


8o 


HISTORY OF MY RETS. 


Then I thought again of home, and 
doubted whether they would have any 
family worship that night, with one lamb 
of the flock gone astray. I thought of 
all their grief and fears, till I felt that my 
heart would burst with sorrow and repent¬ 
ance, for I dared not cry aloud. 

Suddenly, I heard a familiar sound at 
a little distance,—it was Carlo’s bark! 
Nearer and nearer it came ; then I heard 
steps coming fast through the crackling 
brushwood, then little Carlo sprang out of 
the dark into the fire-light, and leaped 
upon me, licking my hands with joy. He 
was followed by one of my elder brothers, 
and by my mother! To her I ran. I 
dared not look in her eyes, but hid my 
face in her bosom, sobbing out, “O 
mother, forgive me! forgive me!” She 
pressed me to her heart, and bent down 
and kissed me very tenderly, and when she 


MILLY THE PONY, AND CARLO THE DOG- 8 1 

did so, I felt the tears on her dear 
cheek. 

I need hardly say that I never again 
undertook to make an Onondaga squaw 
of myself, though my mother always held 
that I was dark enough to be one, and I 
suppose the world would still bear her out 
in her opinion. 

I am sorry to tell the fate of the faith¬ 
ful dog who tracked me out on that night, 
though his story is not quite so sad as that 
of some of my pets. A short time after 
this event, my brother Charles was going 
to the city of Syracuse, some twenty miles 
away, and wished to take Carlo for com¬ 
pany. I let him go very reluctantly, 
charging my brother to take good and 
constant care of him. The last time I 
ever saw Carlo’s honest, good-natured face, 
it was looking out at me through the 
window of the carriage. The last time , 


82 


HISTORY OR MY PETS 


for he never came back to us, but was 
lost in the crowded streets of Syracuse. 

He was a simple, country-bred pointer, 
and, like many another poor dog, was be¬ 
wildered by the new scenes and pleasures 
of the city, forgot his guide, missed his 
way, wandered off, and was never found. 


CORA THE SPANIEL. 

The pet which took little Carlo’s place 
in our home and hearts was a pretty, 
chestnut - colored water - spaniel, named 
Cora. She was a good, affectionate creat¬ 
ure, and deserved all our love. The sum¬ 
mer that we had her for our playmate, my 
brother Albert, my sister Carrie, and I, 
spent a good deal of time down about the 
pond, in watching her swimming, and all 
her merry gambols in the water. There 



CORA THE SPANIEL. 


83 


grew, out beyond the reeds and flags of 
that pond, a few beautiful, white water- 
lillies, which we taught her to bite off and 
bring to us on shore. 

Cora seemed to love us very much, but 
there was one whom she loved even more. 
This was little Charlie Allen, a pretty boy 
of about four or five years old, the only 
son of a widow, who was a tenant of my 
father, and lived in a small house on our 
place. There grew up a great and tender 
friendship between this child and our Cora, 
who was always with him while we were 
at school. The two would play and run 
about for hours, and when they were tired, 
lie down and sleep together in the shade. 
It was a pretty sight, I assure you, for 
both were beautiful. 

It happened that my father, one morn¬ 
ing, took Cora with him to the village, 
and was gone nearly all day; so little 


84 HISTORY OF MY PETS. 

Charlie was without his playmate and pro¬ 
tector. But after school, my sister, broth¬ 
er, and I called Cora, and ran down to 
the pond. We were to have a little com¬ 
pany that night, and wanted some of those 
fragrant, white lilies for our flower-vase. 
Cora barked and leaped upon us, and ran 
round and round us all the way. Soon as 
she reached the pond, she sprang in and 
swam out to where the lilies grew, and 
where she was hid from our sight by the 
flags and other water-plants. Presently 
we heard her barking and whining, as 
though in great distress. We called to 
her again and again, but she did not come 
out for some miuutes. At last she came 
through the flags, swimming slowly along, 
dragging something by her teeth. As she 
swam near, we saw that it was a child,— 
little Charlie Allen ! We then waded out 
as far as we dared, met Cora, took her 


CORA THE SPANIEL. 85 

burden from her, and drew it to the shore. 
As soon as we took little Charlie in our 
arms, we knew that he was dead. He 
was cold as ice, his eyes were fixed in his 
head, and had no light in them. His hand 
was stiff and blue, and still held tightly 
three water-lilies, which he had plucked. 
We suppose the poor child slipped from 
a log, on which he had gone out for the 
flowers, and which was half under water. 

Of course we children were dreadfully 
frightened. My brother was half beside 
himself, and ran screaming up home, while 
my sister almost flew for Mrs. Allen. 

O, I never shall forget the grief of that 
poor woman, when she came to the spot 
where her little dead boy lay,—how she 
threw herself on the ground beside him, 
and folded him close in her arms, and tried 
to warm him with her tears and her kisses, 
to breathe her own breath into his still, 


86 


HISTORY OR MY PETS. 


cold lips, and to make him hear by calling, 
“ Charlie, Charlie, speak to mamma ! speak 
to your poor mamma !” 

She could not realize—she would not 
for a time believe, that her Charlie would 
never again hear her voice, or feel her 
kisses—or see her face—no, never more ! 

By this time, a number of the neighbors 
had reached the spot, and they carried the 
poor drowned boy home through the twi¬ 
light. Poor Cora followed close, whining 
piteously all the way. That night, we 
could not get her out of the room where 
he was laid, but she watched there until 
morning. 

Ah, how sweet little Charlie looked 
the next day in his coffin. His beautiful 
face had lost the dark look that it wore 
when he was first taken from the water ; 
his pretty brown hair lay in close ringlets 
all around his white forehead. One hand 


CORA THE SPANIEL. 87 

was stretched at his side, the other was 
laid across his breast, still holding the 
water-lilies. Dressed as we had so often 
seen him in a pretty summer suit of white 
linen, he did not look dead, but sleeping, 
and he seemed to smile softly as though 
he had a pleasant dream in his heart. 

Poor Cora’s grief for her lost playmate 
was something wonderful. She seemed to 
feel that there was some awful change— 
yet she would not give him up. On the 
day of the funeral, she wistfully watched 
all the sad proceedings. She walked under 
the hearse to the cemetery, and when the 
casket was let down into the grave—she 
startled everybody by leaping in, and 
crouching down upon it. The men had 
to use some force to remove her—but no¬ 
body had the heart to speak a harsh word 
to the poor dumb mourner. She went 
home with us, obediently, but day after 


88 


HISTORY OR MY PETS. 


day, she would go to that grave, never 
missing the spot, though there were many 
other little mounds in the old church-yard. 
She would lie beside it for hours, patiently 
waiting, it seemed, for her young friend to 
awake and come out into the sunshine, 
and run about and play with her as he was 
used to do. Sometimes she would dig a lit¬ 
tle way into the mound, and bark, or whine, 
and then listen for the voice of Charlie to 
answer. She waited and pined for that 
dear voice through many days. She ate 
scarcely anything; she would not play 
with us now, nor could we persuade her 
to go into the pond. Alas! that fair 
sweet child, pale and dripping from the 
water, was the last lily she ever brought 
ashore. She grew so thin, and weak, at 
last, that people said she was “in a decline, 
like a human creature,” and she could hardly 
drag herself to Charlie’s grave. But still 


CORA THE SPANIEL. 


89 


she went there nearly every day. One 
evening, she did not come home, and my 
brother and I went down for her. When 
we reached the church-yard, we passed 
along very carefully, for fear of treading 
on some grave, and spoke soft and low, as 
children should always do in such places. 
Sometimes we stopped to read the long 
inscriptions on handsome tombstones, and 
to wonder why so many great and good 
people were taken away. Sometimes we 
pitied the poor dead people who had no 
tombstones at all, because their friends 
could not afford to raise them, or because 
they had been too wicked themselves to 
have their praises printed in great letters, 
cut in white marble, and put up in the sol¬ 
emn burying-ground, where nobody would 
ever dare to say or print anything but 
the truth. 

But one new fine tombstone gave us a 


9 o 


HISTORY OF MY PETS. 


surprise. It was that which said u Sacred 
to the memory of James, the beloved son 
of Josiah and Mary Ann Benson,”—and a 
lot beside. Now we knew Jim Benson 
had been the wildest and worst boy for 
miles and miles around—a bully among 
his school-mates, and a tyrant to poor 
dumb animals. One day, he swapped his 
jackknife for a pair of rusty old spurs, 
buckled them to his boots, and tried them 
on one of his father’s farm horses. At 
first the simple old creature probably took 
them for wasps, and kicked all around. 
Then Jim tried to make her gallop up a 
steep hill, using a heavy stick as well as 
those savage spurs, and the next thing 
he was thrown right against a big pile 
of stones. I don’t suppose the mare 
meant his rider should fall just then, and 
head foremost, but he did, and that was 
the end of his cruel, foolish goings-on in 


CORA THE SPANIEL. 


91 


this world.—Well, that epitaph made poor 
bad Jim out a regular Sunday School 
story-book boy—or a sweet angel, who 
finding this earth not good enough for 
him, had just put out beautiful wings and 
soared away. 

“ O, what a lot of fibs !” said my brother 
—but I said “ Hush !—they are only Mrs. 
Benson’s mistakes. They say she always 
would stand up for her naughtiest son. 
Mothers will do so—father says.” 

When we came in sight of the grave of 
little Charlie Allen, we talked about him. 
We wondered if he didn’t call Cora, when 
he found he was drowning. We thought 
he must have got tired struggling in the 
water, and hoped he was having a good 
rest down there, with his lilies. We said 
that perhaps his soul didn’t sleep at all— 
and didn’t fly right away to heaven, with 
angels, to sing hymns and learn harp-play- 


92 HISTORY OR MY RETS. 

ing, while his poor mother was weeping 
over her d^vned boy—but stayed near 
her awhile, and somehow comforted her a 
little. 

So talking, we reached the grave. Cora 
was lying on the mound where the grass 
had now grown green and long. She 
seemed to be asleep and not to hear our 
steps or our voices. My brother spoke to 
her pleasantly, and patted heron the head, 
but she did not move. I bent down and 
looked into her face a moment, and then 
I began to cry, for poor Cora was dead. 

Mrs. Allen grieved with us for the 
faithful, intelligent dog, who had so dearly 
loved her boy ; and she said Cora should 
have a little grave made near Charlie’s. 
Some people said it would be wicked to 
bury her there, but our minister said he 
thought not. The minister was a good 
man, who loved children and pets, and 


JACK THE DRAKE . 


93 


above all, loved love ; so most people 
said he must know. We children thought 
it was all right that Cora should sleep 
near her playmate, as she so often used to 
do ; and we believed that if little Charlie 
knew about it he would be pleased, and 
that the Lord would not be really dis¬ 
pleased. 


JACK THE DRAKE. 

I have hesitated a great deal about 
writing the history of this pet, for his lit¬ 
tle life was only a chapter of accidents, 
and you may think it very silly. Still, I 
hope you may have a little interest in it 
after all, and that your kind hearts may 
feel for poor Jack, for he was good and 
was unfortunate. 

It happened that once, during a walk in 



94 HISTORY OF MY PETS. 

the fields, I found a duck’s egg right in my 
path. We had then no ducks in our 
farm-yard, and I thought it would be a 
fine idea to have one for a pet. So I 
wrapped the egg in wool and put it into 
a basket, which I hung in a warm corner 
by the kitchen fire. My brothers laughed 
at me, saying that the egg would never be 
anything more that an egg if left there ; 
but I had faith to believe that I should 
some time see a fine duckling peeping out 
of the shell, very much to the astonish¬ 
ment of all unbelieving boys. I used to 
go to the basket, lift up the wool, and 
look at that little blue-hued treasure three 
or four times a day, or take it out and 
hold it against my bosom, and breathe 
upon it in anxious expectation ; until I be¬ 
gan to think that a watched egg never 
would hatch. But my tiresome suspense 
finally came to a happy end. At about 


JACK THE DRAKE. 


95 


the time when, if he had had a mother 
she would have been looking for him, 
Jack, the drake, presented his bill to the 
world that owed him a living. He 
came out as plump and hearty a little 
fowl as could reasonably have been ex¬ 
pected. But what to do with him was the 
question. After a while I concluded to 
take him to a hen who had just hatched a 
brood of chickens, thinking that, as he 
was a friendless orphan, she might adopt 
him for charity’s sake. But Biddy was al¬ 
ready like the celebrated 


“ Old woman that lived in a shoe, 
Who had so many children, she didn't know what to do.” 

With thirteen little ones of her own, and 
living in a small and rather inconvenient 
coop, it was no wonder that she felt un¬ 
willing to have any addition to her family. 
But she might have declined civilly. I 


9 6 


HISTORY OR MY RETS. 


am afraid she was a sad vixen, for no 
sooner did she see the poor duckling 
among her chickens, than she strode up to 
him, and with one peck tore the skin from 
his head—scalped him !—the old savage. 
I rescued Jack from her as soon as possi¬ 
ble, and dressed his wound with lint as 
well as I could, for I felt something like a 
parent to the fowl myself. He recovered 
after a while, but unfortunately, no 
feathers grew again on his head—he was 
always quite bald—which gave him an ap¬ 
pearance of great age. I once tried to 
remedy this evil by sticking some feathers 
on to his head with tar ; but, like all other 
wigs, it deceived no one, only making him 
look older and queerer than ever. What 
made the matter worse was, that I had se¬ 
lected some long and very bright feathers, 
which stood up so bold on his head that 


JACK THE DRAKE. 


97 


the other fowls resented it, and pecked at 
the poor wig till they pecked it all off. 

While Jack was yet young, he one day 
fell into the cistern, which had been left 
open. Of course he could not get out, 
and he soon tired of swimming, I suppose, 
and sunk. At least, when he was drawn 
up, he looked as though he had been in 
the water a long time, and seemed quite 
dead. Yet, hoping to revive him, I placed 
him in his old basket of wool, which I set 
down on the hearth. He did indeed come 
to life, but the first thing the silly creature 
did on leaving his nest was to run into the 
midst of the fire, and before I could get 
him out, he was very badly burned. He 
recovered from this also, but with bare 
spots all over his body. In his tail there 
never afterwards grew more than three 
short feathers. But his trials were not 
over yet. After he was full-grown, he was 


98 HISTORY OF MY PETS. 

once found fast by one leg in a great iron 
rat-trap. When he was released, his leg 
was found to be broken. But my brother 
William, who was then inclined to be a 
doctor, which he has since become, and 
who had watched my father during surgi¬ 
cal operations, splintered and bound up 
the broken limb, and kept the patient un¬ 
der a basket for a week, so that he should 
not attempt to use it. At the end of that 
time, Jack could get about a little, but 
with a very Had limp, which he never got 
over. But as the duck family never had 
the name of walking very handsomely, 
that was no great matter. 

After all these accidents and mishaps, I 
hardly need tell you that Jack had little 
beauty to boast of, or plume himself upon. 
He was in truth sadly disfigured,—about 
the ugliest fowl possible to meet in a long 
day's journey. Indeed, he used to be 


JACK THE DRAKE. 


99 


shown up to people as a curiosity on ac¬ 
count of his ugliness. 

I remember a little city girl coming to 
see me that summer. She talked a great 
deal about her fine wax-dolls with rolling 
eyes and jointed legs, her white, curly 
French lap-dog, and, best and prettiest of 
every thing, her beautiful yellow canary- 
bird, which sung and sung all the day long. 
I grew almost dizzy with hearing of such 
grand and wonderful things, and sat with 
my mouth wide open to swallow her great 
stories. At last, she turned to me and 
asked, with a curl of her pretty red lips, 
“ Have you no pet-birds, little girl ?” 
Now, she always called me “ little girl,” 
though I was a year older and a head 
taller than she. I replied, “ Yes, I have 
one,” and led the way to the back¬ 
yard, where I introduced her to Jack. I 
thought I should have died of laughter 


IOO 


HISTORY OF MY PETS. 


when she came to see him. Such faces as 
she made up ! 

I am sorry to say, that the other fowls 
in the yard, from the oldest hen down to 
the rooster without spurs, and even to the 
green goslings, seemed to see and feel 
Jack’s want of personal pretensions and 
attractions, and always treated him with 
marked contempt, not to say cruelty. The 
little chickens followed him about, peeping 
and cackling with derision, very much as 
the naughty children of the old Bible times 
mocked at the good, bald-headed prophet. 
But poor Jack didn’t have it in his power 
to punish the ill-mannered creatures as 
Elisha did those saucy children, when he 
called the hungry she-bears to put a stop 
to their wicked fun. In fact, I don’t 
think he would have done so if he could, 
for all this hard treatment never made him 
angry or disobliging. He had an excel- 


JACK THE DRAKE. 


IOI 


lent temper, and was always meek and 
quiet, though there was a melancholy hang 
to his bald head, and his three lonesome 
tail-feathers drooped sadly toward the 
ground. When he was ever so lean and 
hungry, he would gallantly give up his 
dinner to the plump, glossy-breasted pul¬ 
lets, though they would put on lofty airs, 
step lightly, eye him scornfully, and seem 
to be making fun of his queer looks all 
the time. He took everything so kindly! 
He was like a few, a very few people we 
meet, who, the uglier they grow, the more 
goodness they have at heart, and the worse 
the world treats them, the better they are 
to it. 

But Jack had one true friend. I liked 
him, and more than once defended him 
from cross old hens, and tyrannical cocks. 
But perhaps my love was too much mixed 
up with pity, for him to have felt highly 


102 


HISTORY OF MY PETS. 


complimented by it. Yet he seemed to 
cherish a great affection for me, and to 
look up to me as his guardian and pro¬ 
tector. 

As you have seen, Jack was always get¬ 
ting into scrapes, and at last he got into 
one which even I could not get him out 
of. He one day rashly swam out into the 
mill-pond, which was then very high, from 
a freshet, and which carried him over the 
dam, where, as he was a very delicate fowl, 
he was drowned, or his neck was broken, 
by the great rush and tumble of the water. 
I have sometimes thought that it might be 
that he was tired of life, and grieved by the 
way the world had used him, and so put 
an end to himself. But I hope it was not 
so ; for, with all his oddities and misfor¬ 
tunes, Jack seemed too sensible for that. 

Again my poetical brother distinguished 
himself in an 


JACK THE DRAKE. 


103 


ELEGY. 

“Alas, poor lame, bald-headed Jack ! 

None mourned when he was dead, 

And for the sake of her drowned drake 
No young duck hung her head ! 

“The old cocks said they saw him go, 

Yet did not call him back, 

For a death from hydropathy 
Was a fit death for a quack. 

“ The cockerels said, “Well, that poor fowl 
Is gone,—who cares a penny?” 

And guessed he found that last deep dive 
Was one duck-in too many. 

“ The heartless pullets saw him, 

Yet raised no warning cries, 

As he swam o’er the dam, 

And was drowned before their eyes !*' 


104 


HISTORY OF MY PETS, 


HECTOR THE GREYHOUND. 

Hector was the favorite hound of my 
brother Rufus, who was extremely fond 
of him, for he was one of the most beauti¬ 
ful creatures ever seen, had an amiable 
disposition, and was very intelligent. You 
would scarcely believe me, should I tell 
you all his accomplishments and cunning 
tricks. If one gave him a piece of money, 
he would take it in his mouth and run at 
once to the baker, or butcher, for his din¬ 
ner. He was evidently fond of music, 
and even seemed to have an ear for it, 
and he would dance away merrily when¬ 
ever he saw dancing. He was large and 
strong, and in the winter, I remember, we 
used to harness him to a little sleigh, on 
which he drew my youngest brother to 


HECTOR THE GREYHOUND . 105 

school. As Hector was as fleet as the 
wind, this sort of riding was rare sport. 
At night we had but to start him off, and 
he would go directly to the school-house 
for his little master. Ah, Hector was a 
wonderful dog! 

A few miles from our house there was 
a pond, or small lake, very deep and dark, 
and surrounded by a swampy wood. Here 
my brothers used to go duck-shooting, 
though it was rather dangerous sport, as 
most of the shore of the pond was a soft 
bog, but thinly grown over with grass and 
weeds. It was said that cattle had been 
known to sink in it, and disappear in a 
short time. 

One night, during the hunting season, 
one of my elder brothers brought a friend 
home with him, a fine, handsome young 
fellow, named Charles Ashley. It was ar¬ 
ranged that they should shoot ducks about 


io6 


HISTORY OF MY PETS. 


the pond the next day. So in the morn¬ 
ing they all set out in high spirits. In 
the forenoon they had not much luck, as 
they kept too much together; but in the 
afternoon they separated, my brothers giv¬ 
ing their friend warning to beware of 
getting into the bogs. But Ashley was a 
wild, imprudent young man, and once, 
having shot a fine large duck, which fell 
into the pond near the shore, and Hector, 
who was with him, refusing to go into the 
water for it, he ran down himself. Before 
he reached the edge of the water he was 
over his ankles in mire ; then, turning 
to go back, he sunk to his knees, and in 
another moment he was waist-high in the 
bog, and quite unable to help himself. He 
laid down his gun, and, fortunately, could 
rest one end of it on a little knoll of firmer 
earth; but he still sunk slowly, till he was 
in up to his arm-pits. Of course he called 


HECTOR THE GREYHOUND, 107 

and shouted for help as loud as possible, 
but my brothers were at such a distance 
that they did not hear him so as to know 
his voice. But Hector, after looking at 
him in his sad fix 9. moment, started off on 
a swift run, which soon brought him to his 
master. My brother said that the dog then 
began to whine, and^run back and forth in 
a most extraordinary fnanner, until he set 
out to follow him to the scene of the ac¬ 
cident. Hector dashed on through the 
thick bushes as though he were half dis¬ 
tracted, every few moments turning back 
with wild cries to hurry on his master. 
When my brother came up to where his 
friend was fixed in the mire, he could see 
nothing of him at first. Then he heard a 
faint voice calling him, and, looking down 
near the water, he saw a pale face looking 
up at him from the midst of the black 
bog. He has often said that it was the 


io8 


HIS TOR Y OF MY PE TS. 


strangest sight that he ever saw. Poor 
Ashley’s arms, and the fowling-piece he 
held, were now beginning to disappear, 
and in a very short time he would have 
sunk out of sight for ever ! Only to think 
of such an awful death! My brother, 
who had always great presence of mind, 
lost no time in bending down a young tree 
from the bank where he stood, so that 
Ashley could grasp it, and in that way be 
drawn up, for, as you see, it would not 
have been safe for him to go down to 
where his friend sunk. When Ashley 
had taken a firm hold of the sapling my 
brother let go of it, and it sprung back, 
pulling up the young man without much 
exertion on his part. Ashley was, how¬ 
ever, greatly exhausted with fright and 
struggling, and lay for some moments on 
the bank, feeling quite unable to walk. 
As soon as he was strong enough, he set 


HECTOR THE GREYHOUND. 109 

out for home with my brother, stopping 
very often to rest and shake off the thick 
mud, which actually weighed heavily upon 
him. I never shall forget how he looked 
when he came into the yard about sunset. 
O, what a rueful and ridiculous figure he 
cut! We could none of us keep from 
laughing, though we were frightened at 
first and sorry for our guest’s misfortune. 
But after he was dressed in a dry suit of 
my brother’s, he looked funnier than ever, 
for he was a tall, rather large person, and 
the dress was too small for him every way. 
Yet he laughed as heartily as any of us, 
for he was very good-natured and merry. 
It seems to me I can see him now, as he 
walked about with trousers half way up to 
his knees, coat-sleeves coming a little below 
the elbows, and waistcoat that wouldn’t 
meet at all, and told us queer Yankee 
stories, and sung songs, and jested and 


IIO 


HISTORY OF MY PETS. 


laughed all the evening. But once, I re¬ 
member, I saw him go out on to the door¬ 
step, where Hector was lying, kneel down 
beside the faithful dog, and actually hug 
him to his breast. 

When not hunting with his master, 
Hector went with Albert and me in all 
our rambles, berrying and nutting. We 
could hardly be seen without him, and we 
loved him almost as we loved one another. 

One afternoon in early spring, we had 
been into the woods for wild-flowers. I 
remember that I had my apron filled with 
the sweet claytonias and the gay trilliums, 
and the pretty white flowers of the san- 
guinaria, or “ blood-root,” and hosts and 
handfuls of the wild violets, yellow and 
blue. My brother had taken off his cap 
and filled it with beautiful green mosses, 
all lit up with the bright red “squaw- 
berry.” We had just entered the long, 



HECTOR THE GREYHOUND 




























- • 














































♦ I 































• •- 
















' 

r I - 1 







































HECTOR THE GREYHOUND. 


Ill 


shady lane which ran down to the house, 
and were talking and laughing very mer¬ 
rily, when we saw a crowd of men and 
boys running toward us and shouting as 
they ran. Before them was a large, brown 
bull-dog, that, as he came near, we saw 
was foaming at the mouth. Then we 
heard what the men were crying. It was 
“Mad dog T 

My brother and I stopped and clung tp 
each other in great trouble. Hector stood 
before us and growled. The dog was al¬ 
ready so near that we saw we could not 
escape ; he came right at us, with his dread¬ 
ful frothy mouth wide open. He was just 
upon us, when Hector caught him by the 
throat, and the two rolled on the ground, 
biting and struggling. But presently one 
of the men came up and struck the mad 
dog on the head with a large club,—so 
stunned him and finally killed him. But 


1 12 HISTORY OF MY PETS. 

Hector, poor Hector, was badly bitten in 
the neck and breast, and all the men said 
that he must die too, or he would go mad. 
One of the neighbors went home with us, 
and told my father and elder brothers all 
about it. They were greatly troubled, but 
promised that, for the safety of the neigh¬ 
borhood, Hector should be shot in the 
morning. I remember how, while they 
were talking, Hector lay on the door-step 
licking his wounds, every now and then 
looking round, as if he thought that there 
was some trouble which he ought to un¬ 
derstand. 

I shall never, never forget how I grieved 
that night ! I heard the clock strike ten, 
eleven, and twelve, as I lay awake weep¬ 
ing for my dear playfellow and noble pre¬ 
server, who was to die in the morning. 
Hector was sleeping in the next room, and 
once I got up and stole out to see him as 


HECTOR THE GREYHOUND . 113 

he lay on the hearth-rug in the clear moon¬ 
light, resting unquietly, for his wounds 
pained him. I went and stood so near 
that my tears fell on his beautiful head ; 
but I was careful not to wake him, for I 
somehow felt guilty toward him. 

That night the weather changed, and 
the next morning came up chilly and 
windy, with no sunshine at all,—as though 
it would not have been a gloomy day 
enough, any how. After breakfast—ah ! 
I remember well how little breakfast was 
eaten by any of us that morning—Hector 
was led out into the yard, and fastened to 
a stake. He had never before in all his 
life been tied, and he now looked troubled 
and ashamed. But my mother spoke 
pleasantly to him and patted him, and he 
held up his head and looked proud again. 
My mother was greatly grieved that the 
poor fellow should have to die for defending 


114 HISTORY OF MY PETS. 

her children, and when she turned from him 
and went into the house, I saw she was in 
tears; so I cried louder than ever. One 
after another, we all went up and took 
leave of our dear and faithful friend. My 
youngest brother clung about him longest, 
crying and sobbing as though his heart 
would break. It seemed that we should 
never get the child away. My brother 
Rufus said that no one should shoot his 
dog but himself, and while we children 
were bidding farewell, he stood at a little 
distance loading his rifle. But finally he 
also came up to take leave. He laid his 
hand tenderly on Hector’s head, but did 
not speak to him or look into his eyes,— 
those sad eyes, which seemed to be asking 
what all this crying meant. He then 
stepped quickly back to his place, and 
raised the rifle to his shoulder. Then poor 
Hector appeared to understand it all, and 


HECTOR THE GREYHOUND. 115 

to know that he must die, for he gave a 
loud, mournful cry, trembled all over, and 
crouched toward the ground. My brother 
dropped the gun, and leaned upon it, pale 
and distressed. Then came the strangest 
thing of all. Hector seemed to have 
strength given him to submit to his hard 
fate ; he stood up bravely again, but 
turned away his head and closed his eyes. 
My brother raised the rifle. I covered my 
face with my hands. Then came a loud, 
sharp report. I looked around and saw 
Hector stretched at full length, with a 
great stream of blood spouting from his 
white breast, and reddening all the grass 
about him. He was not quite dead, and 
as we gathered around him, he looked up 
into our faces and moaned. The ball which 
pierced him had cut the cord in two that 
bound him to the stake, and he was free at 
the last. My brother, who had thrown down 
his rifle, drew near also, but dared not 


116 HIS TOR Y OF MY PE TS. 

come closer, because, he said, he feared the 
poor dog would look reproachfully at him. 
But Hector caught sight of his beloved 
master, and, rousing all his strength, 
dragged himself to his feet. Rufus bent 
over him and called him by name. Hector 
looked up lovingly and forgivingly into 
his face, licked his hand, and died. Then 
my brother, who had kept a firm, manly 
face all the while, burst into tears. 

My brother William, who was always 
master of ceremonies on such occasions, 
made a neat coffin for Hector, and laid 
him in it, very gently and solemnly. I 
flung in all the wild-flowers which Albert 
and I had gathered on the afternoon of our 
last walk with our noble friend, and so we 
buried him. His grave was very near the 
spot where he had so bravely defended us 
from the mad dog, by the side of the way, 
in the long, pleasant lane where the elm- 
trees grew. 


BOB THE COSSET. 


ii; 


BOB THE COSSET. 

One cold night in March, my father 
came in from the barn-yard, bringing a 
little lamb, which lay stiff and still in his 
arms, and appeared to be quite dead. But 
my mother, who was good and kind to all 
creatures, wrapped it in flannel, and, forc¬ 
ing open its teeth, poured some warm 
milk down its throat. Still it did not open 
its eyes or move, and when we went to 
bed it was yet lying motionless before the 
fire. It happened that my mother slept 
in a room opening out of the sitting-room, 
and in the middle of the night she heard 
a little complaining voice, saying, “ Ma!” 
She thought it must be some one of us, 
and so answered, “ What is it, my child ?” 
Again it came, “ Ma!” and, turning round, 


118 HISTORY OF MY PETS. 

she saw by the light of the moon the little 
lamb she had left for dead standing by her 
bedside. In the morning it was found 
that the own mother of “ Bob,” (for we 
gave him that name,) had died of cold in 
the night; so we adopted the poor orphan 
into our family. We children took care 
of him, and though it was a great trouble 
to bring him up by hand, we soon became 
attached to our charge, and grew very 
proud of his handsome growth and thriv¬ 
ing condition. He was in truth, a most 
amusing pet, he had such free manners 
with every body, and was so entirely at 
home everywhere. He would go into ev¬ 
ery room in the house,—even mount the 
stairs and appear in our chambers in the 
morning, sometimes before we were up, 
to shame us with his early rising. But the 
place which of all others he decidedly pre¬ 
ferred was the pantry. Here he was, I am 



BOB THE COSSET. 


I 



































BOB THE COSSET. 


1 19 

sorry to say, once or twice guilty of break¬ 
ing the commandment against stealing, by 
helping himself to fruit and to slices of 
bread which did not rightfully belong to 
him. He was tolerably amiable, though 
I think that lambs generally have a greater 
name for sweetness of temper than they 
deserve. But Bob, though playful and 
somewhat mischievous, had never any se¬ 
rious disagreement with the dogs, cats, pigs, 
and poultry on the premises. My sister 
and I used to make wreaths for his neck, 
which he wore with such an evident at¬ 
tempt at display, that I sometimes feared 
he was more vain and proud than it was 
right for such an innocent and poetical 
animal to be. 

1 

But our trials did not really commence 
until Bob’s horns began to sprout. It 
seemed that he had no sooner perceived 
those little protuberances in his looking- 


120 


HISTORY OF MY PETS. 


glass, the drinking-trough, than he took to 
butting, like any common pasture-reared 
sheep, who had been wholly without the 
advantages of education and good society. 
It was in vain that we tried to impress 
upon him that such was not correct con¬ 
duct in a cosset of his breeding ; he would 
still persevere in his little interesting trick 
of butting all such visitors as did not hap¬ 
pen to strike his fancy. But he never 
treated us to his horns in that way, and so 
we let him go, like any other spoiled child, 
without punishing him severely, and rather 
laughed at his sauciness. 

But one day our minister, a stout, elder¬ 
ly gentleman, solemn-faced and formal, 
had been making us a parochial visit, and 
as he was going away, we all went out 
into the yard to see him ride off, on his 
old, sorrel pacer. It seems, he had no ri¬ 
ding-whip ; so he reached up to break off 


BOB THE COSSET. 


121 


a twig from an elm-tree, which hung over 
the gate. This was very high, and he was 
obliged to stand on tiptoe. Just then, 
before he had grasped the twig he wanted, 
Bob started out from under a large rose¬ 
bush near by, and ran against the rever¬ 
end gentleman, butting him so violently 
as to take him quite off his feet. My fa¬ 
ther helped the good man up, and made 
a great many apologies for the impiety of 
our pet, while we children did our best to 
keep our faces straight. After our vener¬ 
able visitor was gone, my father sternly 
declared that he would not bear with Bob 
any longer, but that he should be turned 
into the pasture with the other sheep, for 
he would not have him about, insulting 
respectable people and butting ministers 
of the Gospel at that rate. 

So the next morning Bob was banished 
in disgrace from the house and yard, and 


122 


HISTORY OF MY PETS. 


obliged to mingle with the vulgar herd of 
his kind. With them, I regret to say that 
he soon earned the name of being very 
bold and quarrelsome. As his horns grew 
and lengthened, he grew more and more 
proud of the consequence they gave him, 
and went forth butting and to butt. O, 
he was a terrible fellow! 

One summer day, my brother Charles 
and a young man who lived with us were 
in the mill-pond, washing the sheep which 
were soon to be sheared. I was standing 
on the bank, watching the work, when 
one of our neighbors, a hard, coarse man, 
came up, and calling to my brother, in a 
loud voice, asked if he had been hunting 
a raccoon the night before. “ Yes, Sir, and 
I killed him too,” answered my brother. 
“ Well, young man,” said the farmer, “ did 
you pass through my field, and trample 
down the grain ?” “ I crossed the field, 


BOB THE COSSET. 


123 


Sir, but I hope I did no great damage,” 
replied Charles, in a pleasant way. “Yes, 
you did!” shouted the man, “and now, 
you young rascal, if I ever catch you on 
my land again, day or night, I’ll thrash 
you!— I'll teach you something, if your 
father wont!” As he said this, stretch¬ 
ing his great fist out threateningly toward 
my brother, he stood on the very edge of 
the steep bank. Just behind him were 
the sheep, headed by the redoubtable Bob, 
who suddenly darted forward, and, before 
the farmer could suspect what was coming, 
butted him head over heels into the pond! 
My brother went at once to the assistance 
of his enemy, who scrambled to the shore, 
sputtering and dripping, but a good deal 
cooled in his rage. I suppose I was very 
wicked, but I did enjoy that! 

For this one good turn, Bob was always 
quite a favorite, with all his faults, and 


124 


HISTORY OF MY PETS. 


year after year was spared, when worthier 
sheep were made mutton of. He was 
finally sold, with the rest of the flock, 
when we left the farm, and though he 
lived to a good old age, the wool of his 
last fleece must long since have been knit 
into socks and comforters, or woven into 
cloth,—must have grown threadbare, and 
gone to dress the scarecrows, or stop cel¬ 
lar windows, or been all trodden out in 
rag-carpets. 


TOM THE SETTER. 


125 


TOM THE SETTER. 

I now come to the very prince of all 
our household pets—a dear, honest, noble, 
half human creature--Tom, a large Irish 
Settei', the favorite dog of my brother Al¬ 
bert. Brought from the city of Roches¬ 
ter to our pleasant village home in Penn¬ 
sylvania, he was long a beloved and hon¬ 
ored member of our family. 

Tom was said to have some Newfound¬ 
land blood in his veins, but he was of 
much finer and higher quality than any. 
dog of that breed I have ever known. He 
was of extraordinary beauty, sagacity, and 
good-feeling. With the exception of his 
feet and breast, which were snowy white, 


126 


HISTORY OF MY PETS. 


he was jet black, with a thick coat of the 
finest hair, which lay in short curls, glossy 
and silken. His large dark eyes were full 
of kindness and intelligence. He was sin¬ 
gularly dainty and delicate in his tastes 
and ways, and I am sorry to say, rather in¬ 
dolent in his habits,—always preferring to 
take a carriage to the hunting-ground, 
when he went sporting with his master. 
He dearly loved a steamboat ride with 
him, but ordinarily he was a great home¬ 
body—never given to loafing about the 
streets, like the common run of dogs. He 
seldom went off our premises alone, except 
when sent to the Post Office, with or for 
letters, or papers, which he took the most 
faithful care of—not allowing any one to 
look at them on the way. When he 
walked out with us, we noticed that he 
would never suffer himself to be drawn 
into a fight with any of the mongrel curs 



TOM THE SETTER. 









































i 



































































































































































TOM THE SETTER. 127 

who rushed out of their yards, and chal¬ 
lenged him to mortal combat. 

Though he might have settled their 
earthly affairs in a few moments, he always 
fell back and-walked close behind us— 
making a pretext, as we thought, of pro¬ 
tecting his friends, who, in fact, protected 
him. Though he growled bravely, and 
showed his white teeth liberally, we sus¬ 
pected him of being at heart a cowardly 
fellow—and in that we did him great in¬ 
justice. He was a strong swimmer, and 
when it happened that he saved from 
drowning two little children, who had fall¬ 
en into the river, we changed our opinion 
of him—and we considered him quite a 
hero, after one night, when he caught fast 
hold of a burglar-tramp, who was breaking 
into the house through a glass door, and 
held on, till the wretch tore himself away 
and escaped over a high fence. 


28 


HISTORY OF MY PFTS. 


Tom came in suffering somewhat from 
kicks and blows, but bearing in triumph 
a large piece of coarse plaid cloth, which 
did not match that of any pair of trousers 
in our respectable neighborhood. 

He was a remarkably gentlemanly dog 
in his manners, never making free with 
people, or seeming fond at first sight; but 
if one spoke to him pleasantly, he would 
proffer his paw in a friendly way, and seem 
happy to make a new acquaintance. He 
never fawned or skulked about, but was dig¬ 
nified, easy, and perfectly at home in polite 
society. He was, I must confess, a sad 
aristocrat, treating all well-dressed comers, 
even strangers, courteously, but refusing to 
have anything to do with shabby people. 
An English gentleman living opposite to 
us, found himself-an exception. He was 
elegant enough in dress and manner to 
satisfy, it would seem, any reasonable dog, 


TOM THE SETTER. 


2 9 


but this one dog whom he especially ad¬ 
mired and courted, treated him with 
marked coldness and quiet disdain, never 
giving him what the French call “the 
shake-hand.” 

Perhaps national prejudice had some¬ 
thing to do with this antipathy. Tom 
was Irish, you know. One day, how¬ 
ever, this gentleman observed the dog 
waiting patiently for a long time,, outside 
the gate of our place—vainly hoping for 
some one to come out and let him in. 
He was then lame from a wound ac¬ 
cidentally received in hunting, so could 
not leap over the palings. He barked and 
barked, but none of us recognized his 
voice. At last, his unloved friend walked 
across the street, and kindly opened the 
gate for him. Tom looked much aston¬ 
ished, but equally pleased,wagged a grate¬ 
ful tail, and passed in. The next evening 


130 HISTORY OF MY PETS. 

this pleasant neighbor called. There hap¬ 
pened to be a number of friends in the 
parlor. Enter Tom. With a grave, deter¬ 
mined face he passed several of his old 
favorites without a sign of recognition, 
and, going straight to the Englishman, 
offered his paw. With him that was a 
token of lasting gratitude and peace. 

That Tom knew how to take and carry 
on a joke, he proved in many ways. Once, 
I remember, I put on him a gay colored 
jacket of my own, and a large gypsy hat, 
which I tied under his throat, and sent 
him into the parlor, where we had some 
young visitors. Instead of looking 
ashamed, and trying to get those things 
off, as most dogs would have done, he 
crossed the room and sprang on the sofa, 
where he sat upright, looking very wise 
and grave, like a good old colored woman 
in church. He seemed to have a love and 


TOM THE SETTER. 


131 

an ear for music, for whenever we had a 
fine pianist to play for us, he would come 
from perhaps the farthest room in the 
house, and lie under the piano, listening 
with every sign of delight. But let a poor 
player put his bungling hands upon the 
keys, and he would see Tom rise at once 
with a low howl of disgust, and fling him¬ 
self out of the room. He was a better mu¬ 
sical critic than some who write for the 
papers. 

Yes, Tom was a great dog, but after all, 
his greatness lay mostly in his big heart. 
I have never known a more affectionate 
and devoted creature. 

He was at one time the beloved friend 
and playfellow of a dear little niece of 
ours — a delicate, fairy-like child, with 
bright, golden curls about her face—the 
sweetest face in the world. Sometimes, 
in the summer, when both were tired of 


132 


HISTORY OF MY PETS. 


play, they would drop down for a rest on 
the cool grass, and go to sleep—the child’s 
bright head resting against the jetty curls 
of the dog’s shoulder. Even when wide 
awake himself, Tom would never disturb 
her nap. But one evening she left him 
and her play earlier than usual, and went 
and laid her head in her mother’s lap, say¬ 
ing—“Little Janey is tired.” She was 
really ill, and in a few days she died. 
When she was laid away in her grave— 
such a little grave as it was!—though we 
grieved that we should see her sweet face 
no more, we were comforted by thinking 
that it would never be pale with sickness 
in the blessed home to which she had been 
taken, and by knowing that she would 
nevermore be “tired.” 

Poor Tom evidently missed his play¬ 
mate—wandering through the house and 
garden, searching for her—wistful and 


TOM THE SETTER . 


133 


wondering in his way, perhaps, over the 
mystery of death. That he at least could 
fear death, for those he loved, was proved 
by his distress during a severe illness of 
our mother. While the danger lasted, he 
watched with the family, beside her bed— 
or crouched under it, scarcely eating or 
sleeping—taking every opportunity to 
gently lick the hand of his dear mistress ; 
and when she was first able to sit up, his 
joy was unbounded. To our mother Tom 
always showed a tender, protective, chiv¬ 
alrous feeling, but for my brother Albert—• 
his especial master,—a passionate devo¬ 
tion, and a spirit of proud comrade-ship. 

They two often hunted together and 
were equally fond of the sport. When¬ 
ever Tom saw his master with his hunting 
suit on, and his fowling-piece in hand, he 
was half beside himself with eager delight. 

You will remember that many years 


134 


HISTORY OF MY PETS. 


have passed by since this brother and I 
were schoolmates and playmates together. 
We have changed with the years in every¬ 
thing, but our hearts. He certainly has 
never grown away from that peculiar 
fondness, which every loving, united fam¬ 
ily gives to the youngest. While I have 
been writing these histories and recalling 
in so many scenes, the dearest playmate of 
my childhood, I can only see him as a 
boy,—a pretty, black-eyed, rosy cheeked 
little chap ; it is very difficult yet to think 
of him as a man, who has seen much of 
the world we used to think so grand, and 
found it no better than it should be. 

One pleasant spring-time, when he was 
still a very young man, we observed that 
this dear brother’s bright face had become 
thoughtful and serious ; we felt that some¬ 
thing was on his mind, and finally it came 
out. He had resolved to leave his home 


TOM THE SETTER. 


135 


and us, for a long time—perhaps for al¬ 
ways ;—he was going to California, to 
seek his fortune. In those days, before 
there was any railroad across the Conti¬ 
nent, or Isthmus, this was a perilous un¬ 
dertaking. So we were all greatly trou¬ 
bled, fearing for the darling son and 
brother many things in the way of hard¬ 
ships and adventures which indeed he had 
more than enough of, though no man 
could have met them more bravely and 
cheerily. I will not dwell on the sad 
parting—which a happy meeting years 
after, almost made us forget.—This is 
Tom’s story.—I remember the poor dog 
seemed strangely disturbed that morn¬ 
ing ; he knew that something was hap¬ 
pening, and looked anxiously in our faces, 
as though he would ask what it was; and 
when my brother patted him on the head, 
bade him good-by, and passed out of the 


136 HISTORY OF MY PETS. 

gate—gently forbidding him to follow, the 
obedient creature stood still, but whined 
piteously and looked after his master 
wistfully, till he was out of sight. 

For a very long time, the poor animal 
would go often to that gateway and look 
longingly up the street, for the dear famil¬ 
iar form,—crying like a grieved child. He 
seemed to hold sacred every article be¬ 
longing to his lost master. At sight of 
my brother’s hunting suit, gun, and game 
bag, he invariably “lifted up his voice and 
wept.” At such times, I forgot that he 
was a poor dumb brute, and thinking only 
of his faithful love, and of him whom he 
loved, I used to put my arms about his 
neck and have a good cry, too. 

Though Tom lived for several years 
after this parting, I do not believe he ever 
forgot his young master. He was never 
the same dog, alert and merry, and eager 


TOM THE SETTER . 


137 


for sport. In those last years, he suffered 
a great deal at times from rheumatism— 
the effect of his old wound,—and from 
some trouble of the lungs, but he was al¬ 
ways patient, kind, and loving. 

He was so good that I respectfully 
named him “Thomas & Kempis,” after a 
saintly Catholic monk of old times. 
In quite his last days, he seemed to hunt 
continually in his dreams, sometimes bark¬ 
ing joyously. Indeed, the poor rheumatic 
old setter was happiest when he slept, and 
one day he fell very quietly into a sleep 
from which we could not wake him. 

So ended his suffering, and sorrowing, 
and faithful loyal service. It was only “a 
dog’s life,” which Tom led, but it was a 
beautiful and blameless, and on the whole, 
a happy life, and it left a long memory in 
loving human hearts. 


138 


HISTORY OF MY PETS 


SUPPLEMENTARY STORIES. 

It is many—I don’t like to think how 
many—years since the first part of this 
little volume was published. The dear 
children for whom those simple stories of 
my childhood were told are men and wo¬ 
men now, and wonderful changes have 
taken place in all our lives and in all the 
world. But in growing old, I have not 
lost anything of my old love of pets; and 
I hope that my little readers of this time 
will understand and share that feeling. I 
hope that you, dear boys and girls, look 
on all innocent dumb creatures about you 
as friends, and have not only a kindly in¬ 
terest in them, but respect them, for all 
that is lovely and wonderful in their brief 


SUPPLEMENTARY STORIES. 139 

existences, and as objects of the unceasing 
care and tenderness of our Father in hea¬ 
ven. Every smallest creature that lives 
represents a thought of God,—was born 
out of his great, deep, infinite life. 

I hope I may be able to interest you in 
a few more stories of pets—other peoples’ 
pets this time. 


140 


HISTORY OF MY PETS. 


MINNIE’S OWL. 

Once, when I was in England, I visited 
some friends, who lived in a pleasant part 
of the country. They had a fine old 
house, filled with all sorts of beautiful 
things; but nothing in-doors was so de¬ 
lightful as the wide, green lawn, with its 
smooth, soft turf, and the garden, with its 
laburnums, and lilies, and violets, and 
hosts on hosts of roses. There was a 
pretty silvery fountain playing among the 
flowers, so close to a little bower of honey¬ 
suckles that the butterflies fluttering about 
them had to be very careful, or the first 
they knew, they got their wings soaked 
through and through with spray. 

About the house and grounds were all 


MINNIE'S OWL. 


141 

kinds of beautiful pets—grayhounds, and 
spaniels, and lap-dogs, and rare white kit¬ 
tens ; gay parrots, and silver pheasants, 
and sweet-singing canaries; but here, in 
this pleasantest spot, right under the 
honeysuckle-bower, all alone by himself, 
in a large green cage, sat an ugly, gray owl. 
He was the crossest, surliest old fellow I 
ever saw in all my life. I tried very hard 
to make friends with him—but it was of 
no use ; he never treated me with decent 
civility; and one day, when I was offering 
him a bit of cake, he caught my fin¬ 
ger and bit it till it bled ; and I said to 
Mrs. M-, 

“What do you keep that cross old crea¬ 
ture for ?” 

I noticed that my friend looked sad, 
when she answered me and said— 

u We only keep him for our dear little 
Minnie’s sake—he was her pet.” 


142 


HISTORY OF MY PETS. 


Now I had never heard of her little 
Minnie—so I asked about her, and was 
told this story :— 

Minnie was a sweet, gentle little girl, 
who loved everybody, and every creature 
that God had made—and everybody and 
every creature she met loved her. Rough 
people were gentle to her and cross people 
were kindly ; she could go straight up to 
vicious horses, and fierce dogs, and spiteful 
cats, and they would become quiet and 
mild directly. I don’t think that any¬ 
thing could resist her loving ways, unless 
it were a mad bull or a setting-hen. 

One night, as Minnie lay awake in her 
bed, in the nursery, listening to a summer 
rain, she heard a strange fluttering and 
scratching in the chimney, and she called 
to her nurse, and said. 

“ Biddy! what is that funny noise up 
there ?” 



Minnie’s owl. 
































MINNIE'S 0 WL. ' 


143 


Biddy listened a moment, and said, 

“ Sure it’s nothing but a stray rook. 
Now he’s quite gone away—so go to sleep 
wid ye, my darlin’!” 

Minnie tried to go to sleep, like a good 
girl; but after awhile she heard that sound 
again, and presently something came flut¬ 
tering and scratching right down into the 
grate, and out into the room ! Minnie 
called again to Biddy ; but Biddy was tired 
and sleepy, and wouldn't wake up. It 
was so dark that Minnie could see noth¬ 
ing, and she felt a little strange ; but she 
was no coward, and as the bird seemed 
very quiet, she went to sleep again after 
awhile, and dreamed that great flocks of 
rooks were flying over her, slowly, slowly, 
and making the darkness with their jet 
black wings. 

She woke very early in the morning, 
and the first thing she saw was a great 


144 A I STORY OF MY PETS. 

gray owl, perched on the bed-post at her 
feet, staring at her with his big, round 
eyes. He did not fly off when she started 
up in bed, but only ruffled up his feathers, 
ana said— 

“ Whoo r 

Minnie had never seen an owl before ; 
but she was not afraid, and she answered 
merrily, 

“ You’d better say ‘ Who !’ Why who 
are you, yourself, you queer old Wonder 
Eyes ?” 

Then she woke Biddy, who was dread¬ 
fully frightened, and called up the butler, 
who caught the owl, and put him in a cage. 

This strange bird was always rather ill- 
natured and gruff, to everybody but Minnie 
—he seemed to take kindly to her from 
the first. So he was called “ Minnie’s pet,” 
and nobody disputed her right to him. 
He would take food from her little hand 


MINNIE'S OWL. 


145 


and never peck her; he would perch on 
her shoulder and let her take him on an 
airing round the garden ; and sometimes 
he would sit and watch her studying her 
lessons, and look as wise and solemn as a 
learned professor, till he would fall to 
winking and blinking, and go off into a 
sound sleep. 

Minnie grew really fond of this pet, 
grave and unsocial as he was; but she 
always called him by the funny name she 
had given him first —“Old Wonder-Eyes!" 

In the winter time little Minnie was 
taken ill, and she grew worse and worse, 
till her friends all knew that she was going 
to leave them very soon. Darling little 
Minnie was not sorry to die. As she had 
loved everybody and every creature that 
God had made, she could not help loving 
God, and she was not afraid to go to Him 
when he called her. 


146 HISTORY OF MY PETS. 

The day before she died ; she gave all her 
pets to her brothers and sisters, but she 
said to her mother—“ You take good care 
of poor old Wonder-Eyes—for he’ll have 
nobody to love him when I am gone.” 

The owl missed Minnie very much ; 
whenever he heard any one coming, he 
would cry “ Whoo !” and when he found it 
wasn’t his friend, he would ruffle up his 
feathers and look as though he felt him¬ 
self insulted. He grew crosser and crosser 
every day, till there would have been no 
bearing with him, had it not have been 
for the dear memory of Minnie. 

The next time I saw the old owl, sitting 
glaring and “ Who-who-ing” on his perch, 
I understood why he was so unhappy and 
so sullen. My heart ached for him—but 
so did the finger he had bitten ; and I did 
not venture very near to tell him how 
sorry I was for him, in his lonely sadness. 


MINNIE’S OfVL. 147 

When I think of him now, I don’t blame 
him for his crossness, and always say to 
myself—“ Poor old Wonder-Eyes!” 


14B 


HISTORY OF MY PETS. 


NANNIE’S LAMB. 

Little Nannie Tompkins was the daugh¬ 
ter of a poor laborer, who lived in a hum¬ 
ble cottage by the roadside, near a small 
market town in the North of England. 
Nannie had two brothers older than her¬ 
self, away at service, and a sister about 
two years younger, a gentle, pretty child, 
whose name was Olive, but she was al¬ 
ways called Ollie. 

The Tompkins family were the tenants 
of Farmer Grey, a good, amiable man, 
kind to the poor, and very tender to little 
children, birds, and animals—to everything 
that needed help and protection. 

One chilly day in the early spring, as 


NANNIE'S LAMB. 


149 


Nannie was out in the fields, searching 
along the brooks for cresses, and under 
the hedges for the first violets, she met 
Farmer Grey, carrying a little lamb in his 
arms. He said he had found it in the 
field, curled down against its dead mother, 
and perishing with hunger and cold. 

Seeing Nannie looking wistfully at the 
lamb, he said : 

“ If I will give you this poor little creat¬ 
ure, will you feed it, and keep it warm, 
and try to raise it ?” 

“ Oh, yes, indeed I will; thank you 
kindly, sir,” she joyfully replied ; and he 
put the lamb in her arms, and she wrapped 
it carefully in her cloak, and ran home 
with it. 

Nannie’s mother warmed some milk for 
the new pet and fed him. Then she 
made him a nice soft bed near the fire, 
and before night he stopped shivering, and 


50 


HISTORY OF MY PETS. 


grew so strong, that he was able to stand 
on his slender little legs, though rather un¬ 
steadily at first ; and the next day he was 
running and playing about the house. 

The children called this lamb Snow¬ 
drop, both because he was so snowy 
white and delicate, and because he had 
been found in the early spring. 

Well, Snowdrop grew and flourished, 
and proved himself to be a remarkably 
clever and lovable pet. He was very fond 
of the children, especially of Nannie, who 
was more tender and motherly toward 
him than her thoughtless little sister. 
And, next to her parents, and brothers, 
and Ollie, Nannie certainly loved her 
lamb. She fed him, washed him, played 
with him, and took him with her wherever 
she went. At night, he slept on his little 
bed of straw and old clothes in her cham¬ 
ber ; and in the morning, when he awoke, 



nannie’s lamb. 















































. , 








































- 
































NANNIE'S LAMB. 


151 

he would go tap-tapping over the floor to 
her bedside, put up his nose against her 
cheek, and cry, u Ma!” Nannie always 
wakened at this, and, after embracing her 
pet, got up and dressed directly. 

One sunny May morning, as Nannie 
and Ollie sat before the cottage door, with 
Snowdrop, a neighbors daughter, pretty 
Susan Smith, and her sister, Mollie, came 
up, and stopped for a moment to speak 
to the children. 

These girls were going to market— 
Susan with a cage full of young pigeons 
on her head, and Mollie carrying a basket 
of fresh eggs. 

Susan was a merry, teasing girl, and she 
began to advise Nannie to take the lamb 
to market, and sell him. 

“ Seeing that he is so fat and clean, he 
will be sure to fetch a good price,” she 
said. 


152 


HISTORY OF MY PETS. 


Nannie was shocked at this, and, 
throwing her arms about her pet, she 
cried : 

“I wouldn’t sell my darling Snowdrop 
to a naughty, cruel butcher for all the 
world! I’ll never, never let him be 
killed.” 

While the girls were talking, young 
Robert Grey, the farmer’s son, rode up on 
his pretty black horse, and stopped too ; 
it may be because of Susan Smith—for the 
two were famous friends. He heard Nan¬ 
nie’s reply about the lamb, and looking 
down kindly upon her, said— 

“If you are ever obliged to part with 
your pretty pet, my little girl, you need 
not sell him to the butcher, but bring him 
up to the farm-house, and I will buy him, 
and he shall not be killed.” 

Nannie thanked him very prettily, and 


NANNIE'S LAMB. 


153 


he rode away with the merry market 
girls. 

A few days after this, little Ollie was 
taken down with a fever, and was very ill 
for several weeks. At last, she began to 
get well very slowly ; and then came the 
hardest time for her mother and sister— 
for she was fretful, dainty, and babyish, 
and cried a great deal for luxuries which 
her poor parents were not able to purchase 
for her. One afternoon, she cried inces¬ 
santly for some strawberries, for she had 
heard they were in market. Strawberries 
are very dear in England, and Mrs. 
Tompkins could not buy them, for she 
had spent all her little stock of money 
for medicines ; and now she felt so sad for 
the child that she could not help crying 
herself. When Nannie saw this she put 
on her bonnet, and, calling Snowdrop, 


154 


HISTORY OF MY PETS. 


slipped away over the fields to the farm¬ 
house. When she came back, she was 
alone, but she put several bright shillings 
into her mother’s hand, and choking down 
her sobs, said— 

“ There, mamma, I’ve done it ! I’ve 
gone and sold Snowdrop—now take the 
money and buy Ollie the strawberries and 
other things.” 

Mrs. Tompkins kissed and blessed her 
“ good little daughter,” and went away 
and bought the fruit; and Ollie ate it 
eagerly and went to sleep very happy. 

You may be very sure that Nannie did 
not eat any of the berries. She felt as 
though the smallest one among them 
would choke her. She did not utter a 
word of complaint, however, and kept 
back her tears, till she went up to bed, 
alone. Then she could scarcely say her 
prayers for weeping, and when she came 


NANNIE'S LAMB. 


155 


to repeat her sweet little evening hymn, 
she said the first lines in this way— 

“Jesus, tender Shepherd, hear me, 

Bless my little lamb to-night!” 

Here she quite broke down, and was 
only dble to sob out— 

“ Oh, yes, dear Jesus, do bless poor 
Snowdrop, for he’s away off among stran¬ 
gers ! Please to make people good to him 
—for you used to love little lambs and 
children too.” 

Just at this moment, Nannie heard a 
plaintive familiar cry—“ Ma ! Ma !” She 
sprang up from her knees, and ran to the 
window—and there, right down before her, 
in the moonlight, stood Snowdrop ! In a 
minute, she had him in her arms, and was 
hugging him to her heart ! 

On the lamb’s neck hung a little letter, 
saying that he was sent back as a present 
to Nannie, from Robert Grey. 


156 HISTORY OF MY PETS. 

I need hardly tell you that Snowdrop 
was never sold again. He lived with 
Nannie till she was a woman, and he a 
very venerable sheep ; and then he died a 
peaceful death, and was buried in the gar¬ 
den, and real snowdrops grew over his 


grave. 


FIDO THE BRAVE. 


57 


FIDO THE BRAVE. 

A somewhat tragical history is that of 
a certain little, shaggy, brown-and-white 
spaniel, belonging to some friends of ours 
in the country. He was a stray dog, and 
came to them in a very forlorn condition, 
and had evidently been vagabondizing 
about in the fields and woods for some 
days, for he was ravenously hungry, and 
his long hair was dirty, and stuck full of 
straws, briers, and burrs, till he bristled 
like a hedgehog. The first thing that the 
kind lady did, after feeding him, was to 
put him into a warm bath. Then she set 
herself to work to rid him of his encum¬ 
brances,—sticks, straws, briers, and burrs. 
It was a long time before she got down 


153 HISTORY OF MY PETS. 

to the dog; but when at last she laid 
down scissors, scrubbing-brush, and comb, 
and deposited her poor little tramp on the 
floor, he was a good deal diminished in 
size, but looked really handsome, and very 
bright, quaint, and droll. 

He took at once to his new home, and 
soon became a great pet, showing himself 
to be grateful, affectionate, and full of 
cleverness, fun, and fire. His pluck was 
beyond all question. Though not quarrel¬ 
some, he would, when in the least degree 
put upon, fight any dog in the neighbor¬ 
hood, whatever his size and breed, and he 
generally came off victorious. But he was 
altogether too rash and venturesome, given 
to worrying cows, horses, hogs, and old 
stragglers ; rushing into all sorts of dan¬ 
ger, and coming out, when he did come 
out, and was not brought out, with his lit¬ 
tle eyes dancing and his bushy tail in air, 


FIDO THE BRAVE. 1 59 

as though enjoying the risk of the thing, 
and the terror of his kind mistress. 

Among other sportive tricks was a way 
he had of running before the locomotive 
when the train was coming in or going 
out of the station, near by the house of 
my friends. Nearly every day he could 
be seen frisking about it, dancing franti¬ 
cally up and down before it, and barking 
valorously. He really seemed to take a 
malicious satisfaction in defying and in¬ 
sulting that rumbling, puffing, snorting 
monster, that, big as it was, ran away 
from him as fast as possible. 

“ The pitcher goes often to the well, 
but is broken at last.” 

One fatal day the little spaniel miscal¬ 
culated the speed of his big enemy, and 
failed to get out of the way in time. He 
was all off the track but one hind leg, 
when he was struck by the locomotive and 


i6o 


HISTORY OF MY PETS. 


knocked into a ditch,—that one hind leg 
being pretty badly mashed, you may be¬ 
lieve. The poor little fellow set up a 
great outcry, but the unfeeling engineer 
never stopped the train to attend to him, 
and the railroad folks kept the accident 
out of the papers. Fido made his way 
home all alone, dragging his mashed leg 
behind him. Though greatly shocked, 
his mistress did not scold him, but sent 
for a surgeon, who, after a careful exami¬ 
nation, and consulting his books, decided 
that an amputation was necessary. Then 
the good, brave lady held her poor, dear 
pet on her lap while the dreadful opera¬ 
tion was performed. She asked a gentle¬ 
man of the family to hold him, but he had 
not the nerve. After the stump had been 
skilfully dressed, the little dog evidently 
felt better, soon ceased to bemoan his loss, 
and took kindly to a light supper. He 


FIDO THE BRAVE. 


161 

rested well that night, and in the morning 
the doctor pronounced him better. His 
kind mistress nursed him faithfully till he 
was restored to perfect health. He never 
seemed to fret about his maimed condition, 
but hopped around on three legs as merry 
and active as ever. It was observed, how¬ 
ever, that he gave a wide berth to railway 
trains, and howled whenever he heard the 
whistle of the engine, ever after. Still the 
fight wasn’t out of him. He was as jeal¬ 
ous of his honor and as fiery and plucky 
as before his disaster. 

One afternoon, while taking a quiet 
three-legged stroll some distance away 
from home, he encountered on the high¬ 
way a big, surly bull-dog, who presumed 
on the spaniel’s diminutive size and crip¬ 
pled condition to insult him and rail at 
him. Brave Fido dashed at once at the 
ugly bully’s throat, and bit and hung on 


162 


HISTORY OF MV PETS. 


in the most furious and desperate way. It 
was a gallant fight he made, and it did 
seem for a while as though he must come 
off victorious, like David after his engage¬ 
ment with Goliah. But at last the infu¬ 
riated bull-dog tore himself free, and then 
proceeded to make mince-meat of the 
poor spaniel. He tore his ears half off, 
and his eyes half out, and mangled his 
head generally, till it was disfigured to 
the last degree. Then he bit and chewed 
the left, the only left hind leg, till one 
might say that he was next to a locomotive 
and a whole train of cars at the mangling 
business. At this desperate stage of the 
combat a woman came out of a farm-house 
near by, drove the bull-dog away with a 
poker, and took up poor Fido, As he 
had become insensible, she thought him 
dead, and flung him down in a fence cor¬ 
ner, out of the way of travel, and there left 


FIDO THE BRAVE . 


163 

him, meaning, let us hope, to have him 
decently buried in the morning. But 
Fido was not yet ready to give up this life. 
The cool, evening dew reviving him, 
brought him to his senses, in part at least. 
He could not yet see, but, guided by some 
mysterious instinct, he made his way, 
dragging himself by his fore legs, which 
were only two you know, across the fields 
to his home. His mistress was awakened 
in the night by hearing him scratching and 
whining at the door, and made haste to 
arise and take in the poor crippled, blinded, 
bleeding creature, who laid himself panting 
and moaning at her feet. I hope I need 
not tell you that she did not give him up. 
She prepared a soft bed for him in an old 
basket, washed and dressed his wounds, 
and though everybody, especially the doc¬ 
tor, said he must die, that he was as good 
as dead then, she was sure she could fetch 


164 HISTORY OF MY PETS . 

him round, and she did fetch him round 
amazingly. 

But alas ! Fido’s troubles were not over, 
even when he got so that he could hobble 
about on his three legs, and see tolerably 
well ; for one cold morning, as he lay 
curled up in his basket near the kitchen 
stove, he was, I grieve to say, terribly 
scalded by a careless cook, who spilled a 
kettle of hot water over him. Even then 
his mistress refused to give him up to die, 
but dressed his burns with sweet oil, or 
applied a “ pain-killer,” or “ Dailey’s Salve,” 
and administered Mrs. Winslow’s Sooth¬ 
ing Syrup, perhaps,—anyhow she nursed 
him so skilfully and faithfully that she 
fetched him round again. He is no beauty 
nowadays, but alive, and likely to be so. 
It is my opinion that, like the great Na¬ 
poleon, that dog bears a charmed life. 


CAT TALES. 


FAITHFUL GRIMALKIN. 

Many years ago, when my parents lived 
in old Connecticut, my brother had a pet 
cat, a pretty graceful creature, frisky and 
arch and gay, though clad in sober gray. 
She was a favorite with all the large 
household, but especially attached herself 
to my mother, following her about every¬ 
where,—“up stairs, down stairs, and in 
my lady’s chamber,” accompanying her in 
her walks, hiding behind every bush, and 
prancing out upon her in a surprising, not 
to say startling, manner. 

At last she grew out of kittenhood, 
laid aside, in a measure, kittenish things, 


166 HISTORY OF MY PETS. 

and became the happiest, fondest, proud¬ 
est feline mamma ever beheld. She ca¬ 
ressed and gloated over her little, blind, 
toddling, mewing, miniature tigers in a 
perfect ecstasy of maternal delight. Just 
at this interesting period of pussy’s life 
our family moved from the old place to 
a house in the country, about a mile away. 
My mother was ill, and was carried very 
carefully on a bed from one sick-room to 
another. In the hurry, trouble, and con- 
fushion of that time, poor pussy, who 
lodged with her family in an attic, was 
quite forgotten. But early in the morn¬ 
ing of the first day in the new house,— 
a pleasant summer morning, when all the 
doors and windows were open,—as my 
mother lay on her bed, in a parlor on the 
first floor, she saw her cat walk into the 
hall and look eagerly around. The mo¬ 
ment the faithful creature caught sight of 


CAT TALES. 


167 


her beloved mistress, she came bounding 
into the room, across it, and up on the 
bed, where she purred and mewed in a 
delighted, yet reproachful way, quite hys¬ 
terical, licking my mother’s hand and rub¬ 
bing up against her cheek in a manner 
that said more plainly than words, “Ah! 
my dear madam, didst thou think to leave 
thy faithful Grimalkin behind ? Where 
thou goest, I will go.” 

She was taken into the kitchen and 
treated to a cup of new milk ; but after a 
few moments given to rest and refreshment 
she disappeared. Yet she went only to 
come again in the course of an hour, lug¬ 
ging one of her kittens, which she de¬ 
posited on the bed, commended to my 
mothers’s care, and straightway departed. 
In an almost incredibly short time she 
became bounding in with a second kitten. 
She continued her journeys till the whole 


168 


HISTORY OF MY PETS. 


litter had been safely transported, over hill 
and dale, ditches and stone-walls, through 
perils of unfriendly dogs and mischievous 
boys, and the family flitting was com. 
plete. 

After this our noble puss was loved 
and respected more than ever. She dwelt 
long in the land, and her kits grew up, I 
believe, to be worthy of such a mother. 

OBEDIENT THOMAS. 

Now I want to give you an instance 
of filial respect and submission in a young 
cat. When we first came to Washington, 
nearly two years ago, I took to petting a 
handsome cat belonging to the relatives 
with whom we then lived. I fed and 
caressed her, and she became very fond 
of me, always running to meet me when 
I entered the garden which she haunted, 


CAT 'TALES. 


169 


or the barn in which she lodged. She 
was rather wild in her ways, and so stole 
a nest, in which she finally hid away some 
kittens, that she afterwards reared to be 
wilder than herself. These somehow dis¬ 
appeared, all but one, which, when he 
was about half grown, I undertook to 
tame. It was a difficult, tedious job ; but 
I persevered, and at last found him a 
more affectionate, docile pet than ever his 
mother had been. She had seemed fond 
of him in his wild, unregenerate days, 
but as soon as he became domesticated, 
and I began to show a partiality for him, 
she grew very severe with him, scratch¬ 
ing his face and boxing his ears when¬ 
ever she saw me caressing him. I soon 
noticed that when she was near he was 
shy, pretending not to be on intimate 
terms with me ; while, if she was out of 
the way, I had only to call his name, to 


170 HISTORY OF MY PETS. 

have him come galloping up from the 
furthest part of the long garden, to rub 
against me, to lick my hand, and show 
every feline fondness and delight. Now 
we live at another house, and I seldom 
see my pets, mother and son ; but they 
are loving and constant still, proving that 
the poet Coleridge didn’t know every¬ 
thing when he talked about “the little 
short memories,” of cats. 

Master Thomas has grown large and 
strong, and is accounted a gallant young 
fellow by all the young pussies in the 
neighborhood. But while toward cats of 
his own sex he is fierce and combative, 
he is just as meek and deferential to his 
mother as he was in his tender kittenhood. 
The other day I encountered him in the 
old garden, and was surprised to find how 
stalwart he had become. I stooped to 
caress him, and he seemed as susceptible 


CAT TALES. 


I/I 

to gentle overtures as ever, arched his 
hack, switched his tail, and purred raptur¬ 
ously. Suddenly the mother cat stole 
out from behind a tree, and confronted 
us. “ Good morning, madam/’ I said, for 
I always talk to cats and dogs just as I 
talk to other people. “You have a fine 
son here ; a handsome young fellow, that 
favors you, I think.” But she wasn’t to 
be softened by the compliment. She 
walked straight up to him, and boxed him 
first on one ear and then on the other, 
quite in the old motherly way. As for 
him he never thought of resenting the old 
lady’s act, or opposing her will, but 
drooped his lordly tail, and hastily re¬ 
treated. Now that is what I call good 
family discipline. 

This city of Washington is a place where 
the wits of people are sharpened, if any¬ 
where, and perhaps even cats and dogs 


1 7 2 HISTORY OF MY PETS. 

become uncommonly clever and knowing 
here. Only yesterday I was told of a Wash¬ 
ington cat which had just been found out in 
a wonderful trick. Observing that, when 
the door-bell rang, the one servant of the 
household was obliged to leave the kit¬ 
chen, she managed to slyly ring the bell, 
by jumping up against the wire, and in¬ 
variably, when her enemy, the cook, went 
to the door, she would slip into the kit¬ 
chen, and help herself to whatever tempt¬ 
ing article of food was within reach. At 
last some one watched, and caught her at 
her secret " wire-pulling.” Poor puss re¬ 
tired with a drooping tail and a most de¬ 
jected aspect, evidently realizing that the 
game was up. 

Another cat I know of was of so amia¬ 
ble and benevolent a disposition that she 
actually adopted into her own circle of 
infant kits a poor, forlorn little foundling 


CAT TALES. 


173 


of a rat . As her nursling, he grew and 
thrived, seeming quite as tame as the 
others; and when a mischievous boy set a 
rat-terrier on him, and so finished him, cat 
and kittens really seemed to mourn for 
their foster son and brother. 


KATRINA AND KATINKA. 

Once on a time—no matter when— 
in a. certain beautiful city-—no matter 
where—there lived two lovely twin sis¬ 
ters, with the brightest eyes, and the cun- 
ningest little roly-poly figures, and the 
slenderest ears with the softest pink satin 
lining, and the spryest motions imagina¬ 
ble. They were brunettes in complexion, 
with white breasts and tail-tips, and they 
were kittens. Katrina and Katinka were 
their names, if I remember rightly,—may¬ 
be I don’t, but anyhow they might have 


174 HISTORY OF MY PETS. 

had those names, which, to my thinking, 
are very pretty and appropriate for kit¬ 
tens. 

Well, these same twin pussies were sin¬ 
gularly fond of each other, and more sin¬ 
gularly good to each other. They never 
called names, or scratched, or spat in each 
other’s pretty faces, or pulled each other’s 
little smellers, or quarrelled over their 
meals. They were so marvellously alike 
that it was always difficult to tell them 
apart ; and when they slept, as they always 
did, hugged close in each other’s arms, 
you couldn’t have told to save you where 
one kitten left off and the other kitten 
began. 

They not only slept, ate, and played to¬ 
gether, but, as they grew older, took their 
strolls for health and recreation and their 
mouse-hunts in the same close and loving 
companionship. They were very curious 


CAT TALES. 


175 


and wide-awake little bodies, and liked to 
see all they could of the great, busy world ; 
so every pleasant afternoon, when there 
was much driving and walking up and 
down the fine street on which they lived, 
they could be seen strolling down the long 
walk to the gate, always exactly side by 
side,—“ neck and neck,” as the horse people 
say,—as even in their pace, and as perfectly 
matched in their action, as ever were a 
pair of trained ponies in Hyde Park. 
Reaching the gate, they would pause and 
stand quite still for a half-hour or so, 
gravely gazing through the palings at the 
passers,— pedestrians, equestrians, and 
drivers of fast horses,—like a pair of dear 
little brigadiers reviewing their brigades 
marching by. Then, with the air of hav¬ 
ing discharged a public duty to the entire 
satisfaction of the community, they would 
wheel exactly together, and again, precise- 


1 76 HISTORY OF MY PETS. 

1 y neck and neck and tail and tail, trot 
gently homeward. 

So they lived on, in and for each other, 
almost as much united as if they had been 
a pair of small feline female Siamese twins, 
amiable, loving, and virtuous, and grew in 
knowledge and stature up to a comely 
young cathood. At last it happened that 
a very interesting event occurred to the 
twin sisters at precisely the same time,— 
they became happy mothers, were blessed 
with three or four fine kittens apiece. 
But alas ! before the little strangers had 
got fairly to feel their legs, before they 
had got their eyes open, all save one mys¬ 
teriously disappeared from each nest. It 
was one fatal morning when the twin sis¬ 
ters had slipped out of their happy attic 
apartment for a little air,—to take their 
“ Constitutional ” in a trot down the long 
gravel walk to see how the world would 


CAT TALES. 


1 77 


look to them now they were mothers,— 
that this kit-napping occurred. When 
they returned to their families, they found 
them strangely thinned out; but they 
were mothers for all that, and did not 
seem to fret much, or abate their maternal 
pride a jot. 

You see the ruling power in the human 
household in which they were domesti¬ 
cated, and who was to them as a provi¬ 
dence, had ordered a little hydropathy for 
their poor, feeble, sprawling, blind dar¬ 
lings,—beginning with what is called in 
water-cures “ the heroic treatment,” a cold 
plunge ; and it didn’t agree with them,— 
it never does with any but the healthy and 
hardy patients,—so it was they never came 
back. But under the blue waves they 
sleep well, though never a mew or a purr 
comes bubbling up to the surface to tell 
the spot where they lie on beds of tangled 


178 HISTORY OF MY PETS. 

sea-grass. “ Requies-cat in pace ,” as old 
tombstones say. 

The next mournful event in this true 
family history was the untimely death of 
Katrina’s one darling. This had proved 
to be but a frail flower of kittenhood; 
very pretty she was,—“too sweet to live,” 
people said. Her constitution was defect¬ 
ive, her nervous system was extremely 
delicate. Before she was a week old she 
had something alarmingly like a fit of cat- 
alepsy. Suddenly, while imbibing nour¬ 
ishment, with her fond mother purring 
over her, and two or three children looking 
on in smiling sympathy, she gave a piteous 
wild mew, rolled over on her back, and 
stuck up her four little legs and laid out 
her little tail stiff as a poker! On the 
ninth day of her little life she opened her 
blinking blue eyes on this great wonderful 
world, in which she had as good a right to 


CAT TALES. 


1/9 


be as you or I; but she didn’t seem to 
like the looks of things, for she soon 
closed those small eyes again, and never 
opened them more. Life was evidently 
too hard a conundrum for her poor, weak 
little brain, and she gave it up. 

Of course Katrina was greatly afflicted, 
but she did not abandon herself utterly to 
grief. Had not her sister a kitten left ? 
and had not they two always had every¬ 
thing in common ? So as soon as the 
sympathetic children had buried her dead 
out of her sight under a lilac-bush, she 
went straightway to Katinka, and, with 
her full consent, began to divide with her 
the duties and joys of maternity. All 
three just cuddled down together in one 
nest ; from mamma or auntie Master Cat¬ 
kin took nourishment, just as it suited his 
whim or convenience, and, as you might 
suppose, he grew and thrived astonishing- 


i8o 


HISTORY OF MY PETS. 


ly. So equal and perfect was this partner¬ 
ship in the kitten, that it was impossible 
for a stranger to tell which of the two cats 
was the real mother. One day all three 
were brought down to the parlor to amuse 
some visitors. Both mammas seemed 
equally nervous about having the baby 
kitten handled, and presently one of them 
caught it by the neck,—the cat’s usual, 
immemorial way of transporting her young, 
—and started with it for the attic ; when, 
to the surprise and immense amusement of 
all present, the other caught hold of the 
tail, and so the two bore it away in tri¬ 
umph. 

After this I am afraid the children gave 
the little kitten rather more travelling 
than he liked. It was such fun to see the 
two anxious cats following him, mewing, 
and at the first chance catching him up, 
and lugging him home in that absurd 


CAT TALES. l8l 

manner. Generally the real certain true 
mother seized on the head, but sometimes 
she was magnanimous enough to yield the 
post of honor to the aunt, and take to the 
tail herself. 

So things went on for a few weeks, and 
then there happened to this estimable cat- 
family another sad event,—for this is a 
tragedy I am writing, though you may 
not have suspected it,—Katinka died! 
What of, has never yet been decided; 
physicians differed about it, and the cor¬ 
oner could not make it out. But this 
much is certain, Katinka died. The grief 
of Katrina was and is very affecting to 
behold. She mopes, she mews, and her 
slender tail, which she used to carry erect 
with such a jaunty air, droops dolefully. 
She takes no longer the “ Constitutional ” 
trot down the walk to the front gate. 
Life seems to have grown dull and weari- 


182 


HISTORY OF MY PETS.- 


some to her, and the pleasures of mouse¬ 
hunting and tree-climbing appear to have 
lost their zest. If she remembers at all 
the halcyon period when much of her pre¬ 
cious time was spent in a dizzy round of 
gayety, in a swift pursuit of a ball of cot¬ 
ton, or a futile pursuit of her own tail, it 
is in sad wonder that she could ever have 
been so merry and thoughtless. She 
grows thin, neglects her toilet, and often 
refuses food ; but when the children offer 
her catnip, she turns languidly away. If 
she were acquainted with Shakespeare, she 
would doubtless say,—“ Canst thou not 
minister to a mind diseased?" “ Throw 

physic to Bose and Jowler ,”—“77/ none 
of it r 

Friendly cat-neighbors call in occasion¬ 
ally, but they cannot console her. All 
the petting of the household fails thus far 
to make her cheery and playful as once 


CAT TALES. 


183 


she was. She is fed on the very “ milk of 
human kindness,” but grief has licked the 
cream off. 

She seems to find her only consolation 
in her care and affection for the mother¬ 
less catkin, and in his fondness for her. 
I am sorry to say that he does not show 
a very deep sense of his loss; perhaps he 
is too young to realize it. His good aunt 
seems sufficient for all his needs, and he 
thrives finely, is fat and jolly, and full of 
all kittenish pranks and mischievous 
tricks. Poor Katrina will have a time 
with him, I fear, as he is sadly petted and 
indulged. Such a lazy rascal as he is too, 
—don’t earn the salt of his porridge, that 
is if he takes it salted,—and, though quite 
old enough to “go on the war path,” has 
never yet killed his mouse, or brought 
home a rat’s scalp, or a ground-squirrel’s 
brush, or as much as a feather from a tom- 


HISTORY OF MY RETS. 


tit’s wing. Ah ! of all the darlings in the 
world, an aunty’s darling is the likeliest 
to be spoiled. 

This is all I know about this curious 
cat-family. I hope, dear children, that 
my true story may not sadden you, for I 
really wish you, one and all, the merriest 
of merry Christmases, and the happiest 
of happy New Years. 

All I can say in the way of a moral to 
my little story is : How beautiful is love ! 
even when shown in the fortunes and sor¬ 
rows of cats and kittens, how beautiful is 
love! 


OUR COUSINS THE PARROTS. 


185 


OUR COUSINS THE PARROTS. 

These strangely interesting birds, ac¬ 
cording to natural history, belong to the 
second bird family, the Psittacidcz. I 
never knew how many wonderful and splen¬ 
did varieties this family contained until I 
saw living specimens of all, or nearly all, 
in the known world, in the Zoological 
Gardens of London, where they are kept 
in a great gallery,—a beautiful parrot para¬ 
dise, all by themselves. They were a 
wonder to behold, but a perfect astonish¬ 
ment to listen to. The confusion of 
tongues was something almost distracting. 
The Tower of Babel, in its talkingest day, 
never approached it, I am sure. A large 
sewing-circle of elderly ladies might come 


186 HISTORY OF MY PETS. 

nearer the mark. The colors of their 
plumage I have no words to describe. 
They fill my memory with tropic splendors 
whenever I think of them, to this day. 

’Tis strange that but one species of 
parrots was known to the ancient Greeks 
and Romans,—the Parakeet of India,— 
at least up to the time of Nero. That 
gentle prince, with his amiable love of pets, 
is said to have sent emissaries far up the 
Nile to collect new varieties for the grati¬ 
fication of his royal whim and dainty appe¬ 
tite ; for, when the poor little captives 
ceased to amuse him by their conversa¬ 
tional powers, he ate them. I hope they 
lay hard on his stomach, and made him 
talk in his sleep! 

The early Portuguese navigators found 
parrots at the Cape of Good Hope, and 
at other points on the African coast; and 
the very first creatures that welcomed 


OUR COUSINS THE PARROTS. 187 

Columbus to the isles of the New World 
were Parakeets. The Macaws of South 
America are very handsome birds, but not 
remarkably tractable or agreeable. They 
are fond of old friends, but are fierce to 
strangers, and have a singular dislike to 
children. The gray and scarlet parrot, 
called the Yaco, is a charming bird for a 
pet. It is clever and docile, and learns 
readily to talk, preferring to imitate the 
voices of children. The Cockatoos of 
New Guinea are very pretty and graceful 
pets. They do not like to be caged, but 
may be safely allowed to have the range 
of the premises, as they will immediately 
come when called; thus setting an excel¬ 
lent example to rebellious children. The 
green parrot, most common in this coun¬ 
try, is a native of Africa. 

Dear old Dr. Goldsmith, whose Natural 
History is all out of fashion now, except 


188 


HISTORY OF MY PETS . 


With us old folks, tells some amusing sto¬ 
ries about parrots. Among these is an 
anecdote of a famous fellow, belonging to 
King Henry the Seventh, Queen Eliza¬ 
beth’s grandfather. This bird, sitting 
on his perch in the palace-yard at West¬ 
minster, used to hear the talk of gentle¬ 
men who came to the river to take boats. 
And one day, while overlooking the busy 
traffic of the Thames, he fell from a tree 
into the water; and while there, floating 
helplessly, he cried: “ A boat! twenty 
pounds for a boat!” A waterman rescued 
him, and took him to the king, demand¬ 
ing his twenty pounds. The king, who 
was not remarkably generous, hesitated 
about giving so large a sum ; but finally 
agreed to leave the amount of the reward 
to the parrot. That ungrateful fellow, 
who sat on his perch, still shaking the 
water from his feathers, when appealed to, 


OUR COUSINS THE PARROTS . 189 

turned his head slyly on one side, and 
said, “Give the knave a groat” (about 
fourpence). I hope, children, you won’t 
doubt the truth of this story; it isn’t good 
to get into sceptical habits of mind in early 
life. 

For many years there lived in the por¬ 
ter’s lodge of the old Pennsylvania Flospi- 
tal a distinguished and venerable citizen, 
—a parrot of rare cleverness and intelli¬ 
gence. This famous bird belonged to the 
porter, and was one of many feathered 
pets, the chief favorite and familiar. A 
remarkable affection and sympathy ex¬ 
isted between these two friends; yet I am 
sorry to say their relations were not alto¬ 
gether pleasant and peaceful. Innumer¬ 
able were their quarrels and make-ups. 
The bird was very knowing, and almost 
supernaturally gifted as a talker, espe¬ 
cially, like some human orators, in the lan- 


19O HISTORY OF MY PETS. 

guage of railing and taunting. The old 
man, his master, had one deplorable weak¬ 
ness,—he would occasionally drink too 
much whiskey; so much that, getting 
quite beside himself, he would leave his 
lodge and his innocent feathered family, 
and go off on a desperate spree, which 
sometimes lasted for days. Now, Mas¬ 
ter Paul Parrot thought this weakness, 
through which he suffered in loneliness 
and neglect, very reprehensible and not 
to be winked at, and when the fit of dis¬ 
sipation was coming on his master, it is 
said, would remonstrate with him, in a 
friendly way, like a very Mentor. When 
this proved in vain, and he saw the mis¬ 
guided old man leave the lodge for some 
of his disreputable haunts, he would en¬ 
deavor to put a good face on the matter, 
would hop about on his perch in great ex¬ 
citement, and call out to the other birds: 


OUR COUSINS THE PARROTS. 191 

“ The old man has gone on a spree—on a 
spree ! He won’t be back for a week ! 
Let’s have a time. Ha, ha !” 

When the old porter came home, this 
naughty bird would be very apt to mock 
and taunt him, calling out: “ So you’ve 
come back,—have you ? O, how drunk 
you are ! Now we’ll have a row.” And 
there always was a row ; for the indignant 
porter never failed to beat Mr. Paul, for 
his impudence, soundly. Then the bird, 
seeking the dignified retirement of the 
darkest corner of the lodge, sulked and 
muttered, till, the old porter’s good-humor 
returning, he made friendly overtures. 
The two were reconciled, and “ everything 
was lovely” again. 

At length the poor old porter died; 
and as his successor was no bird-fancier 
the feathered family at the lodge was 
broken up and dispersed. The clever 


192 HISTORY OF MY PETS. 

parrot was kindly treated in a new home; 
but he never seemed happy. He evi¬ 
dently missed his old master,—missed his 
caresses and his scoldings. Or perhaps 
he found the steady goings-on of a moral 
household too dull for his taste, for when 
I went to see him, I found him as glum, 
stupid, and morose as an old politician 
who had had his day. All he would say 
was, “ O you goose !” 

There is another curious parrot in Phil¬ 
adelphia, in a store kept by a maiden 
lady whose voice is so exceedingly shrill 
and parrot-like that it is difficult to tell 
when she leaves off talking and the par¬ 
rot begins. One day, as a customer was 
examining an article on the counter, Miss 
Polly called out: “ What are you doing 
with that ? Put it down ! put it down 1” 
The lady looked round very indignantly 
for the offender, saying: “ Well, ma’am, 


OUR COUSINS THE PARROTS. 193 

I must say you have a very impudent 
child. ” 

There is in the same city another par¬ 
rot, who recites a verse of an old song 
in a most distinct and triumphant man¬ 
ner :— 

“ O pretty Polly, 

Don’t you cry, 

For your true-love 
Will come by and by.” 


There is in Brooklyn, New York, a par¬ 
rot that sings many of the popular airs 
correctly, and with as much expression as 
many fashionable singers give to them. 
This bird is singularly social and affec¬ 
tionate, and has a horror of being alone. 
He will sometimes awake in the middle 
of the night, and arouse the household 
by crying : “ O dear ! I am all alone !— 
all alone ! Somebody come to me !” 


194 HISTORY OF MY PETS. 

I have heard much of a clever parrot 
once kept by some relatives of ours on an 
old place in a quiet little village. Mis¬ 
tress Polly had free range of the house 
and yard, and throughout the town was 
as well known as the oldest inhabitant. 
Through all the pleasant weather she 
haunted the tall trees in front of the 
house, climbing to the highest branches, 
and from there superintending the affairs 
of the neighborhood, and making astro¬ 
nomical and meteorological observations. 
In the spring and autumn she watched 
from these lofty perches the flight of 
great flocks of pigeons and crows with 
intense but decidedly unfriendly interest. 
She would scream and scold at them in 
a most insolent and defiant manner, evi¬ 
dently criticising the order of their march 
and all their manoeuvres and evolutions, 
for all the world like a newspaper editor 


OUR COUSINS THE PARROTS. 195 

finding fault with the conduct of great 
armies. Doubtless she was astonished 
and disgusted to see the great host sweep 
steadily on, following their leader, paying 
no heed to her shrieking, railing, and 
evil prophecies. Yet she was never so 
absorbed by her duties on the watch-tower 
that she failed to come to her meals. 
These she took with the family, perched 
on the back of a chair or the corner of 
the table. She was very fond of coffee, 
and was always provided with a cup. She 
would take it up by the handle with her 
claws and drink from it without spilling 
a drop. A terrible gossip and busybody 
was she, talking perpetually and doing 
all the mischief that lay in her power. 
She was the terror and torment of all 
cats and kittens; for, wary and watchful 
as they might be, Polly was always sur¬ 
prising them by attacks in the rear, and 


1 96 HISTORY OF MY PETS. 

cunning ambuscades and flank movements. 
Nothing more still and soft-footed could 
be imagined than her approaches; noth¬ 
ing more sly, sudden, and sharp than the 
nips she gave with her horrid hooked bill. 
A cat’s extended tail was especially tempt¬ 
ing to her. She generally fought the 
battle out on that line. “ In maiden 
meditation fancy free,” this parrot roamed 
about the yard, and laughed and railed at 
patient setting hens, and the proud moth¬ 
ers of newly hatched chicks and duck¬ 
lings. Sometimes she would follow a 
brood about, sneering and advising, until 
the poor mother was in an agony of 
worriment. At last she came to grief in 
this way. A spirited speckled hen, with 
a fine brood of young ones, tired of being 
snubbed and of hearing her offspring de¬ 
preciated, and shocked at seeing the 
domestic virtues set at naught by a flaunt- 


OUR COUSINS THE PARROTS. 197 

ing foreign fowl of infidel sentiments, 
turned upon her, sprang upon her back, 
and began pecking and tearing at her 
sleek plumage like mad! The feathers 
fell all around, like a shower of green 
snow; and the parrot began screaming 
with all her might : “ Let up 1 Let up ! 
Poor Polly ! Poor Polly !” 

Her mistress came to the rescue, and 
Polly skulked away to her cage, where she 
remained several days, sullen and deeply 
humiliated ; but when she emerged from 
her retirement she gave the hens and 
chickens a wide berth. 

A certain family on Long Island are 
fortunate enough to possess a handsome 
parrot of a more agreeable and companion¬ 
able character. She is not exactly ami¬ 
able—I doubt if parrots ever are that— 
but she is exceedingly clever and amusing. 
She has been in this household more than 


HISTORY OF MY PETS. 


twenty-five years and as she was brought 
by a strange sailor from South America, 
nobody knows her age and being a lady- 
parrot we may be sure she will never tell. k 
She speaks Spanish, sings Spanish, 
walks Spanish, with a proud and haughty 
air—and it is whispered that, when teased 
and made angry, she also swears in Span¬ 
ish. Otherwise she always bears herself 
like a grande senora,. or great lady and 
her name is Loretta. Mark that! for if 
you should chance to see her and to 
address her as “ Polly,” like any common 
parrot, she would ruffle up her green and 
scarlet feathers, glance at you and scream 
out “ Loretta !” She takes her meals with 
the family—her cage being placed on a 
high chair beside her mistress. She is an 
epicure, and when an article of food fails 
to please her dainty taste she indignantly 
thrusts it out of her cage. When the 


OUR COUSINS THE PARROTS. 199 

minister is present and says grace she 
imitates him, by bowing her head, closing 
her eyes and mumbling some sonorous 
words in Spanish. Let us hope she says 
nothing improper. Of late she has much 
amused herself with a very small china 
doll, given her as a joke. She has noticed 
how little children are fondled and dis¬ 
ciplined and she dandles and dangles this 
dollie, now and then playing that it is 
naughty and severely punishing it. She 
holds it firmly with one claw and beats 
it with the other. Now scolding, and 
now imitating the cry of a child. When 
she sees it needs a bath she plunges it 
into her own tub and again does the 
proper amount of crying. She greets 
visitors whom she likes, very graciously 
asking, “Are you well?” but from the 
moment one whom she happens to dis¬ 
like, enters the room, she does not cease 


200 


HISTORY OF MY PETS. 


to say, in a cool, airy way u Good-bye ! 
Good-bye! There are times when her 
mistress would imitate the frankness of 
la Senora Loretta, if she only dared. 

A dear young friend of ours has a love¬ 
ly pair of turtle-doves, that are constantly 
making love to each other,' these soft, 
spring days, in that delicious, drowsy, 
honeymoon coo, “ most musical, most 
melancholy.” 

Awhile ago, the disastrous experiment 
was tried of putting these doves into the 
cage with a parrot, one charitably thought 
to be a bird of a peaceable disposi¬ 
tion. But Miss Polly did not fancy her 
dainty visitors in the least. She glared at 
them as they lay cuddled together in a 
corner, eying her askance, and murmur¬ 
ing in the sweet dove dialect—Madame 
Columba very timidly, and Monsieur in a 
tender, reassuring tone. Miss Polly abom- 


OUR COUSINS THE PARROTS. 


201 


inated such soft, lovesick voices, and such 
a parade of wedded happiness and affec¬ 
tion just exasperated her, so she pitched 
into them, scolding fearfully at first, but 
soon coming to blows with her wings, 
then to scratching and pecking with her 
steel-like claws and fearful, hooked bill. 
When the hapless pair were rescued, it 
was found that the husband, who had 
fought gallantly to protect his wife, had 
met with a serious loss, in the upper part 
of his bill, which had been quite bitten off 
by that inhospitable old termagant, who 
had doubtless thought thus to put an end 
to his billing and cooing. 

The poor fellow lost some glossy feath¬ 
ers in this encounter. They have been re¬ 
placed, but the broken beak has never 
been restored. Thus maimed, he is only 
able to drink from a perfectly full cup, 
and his loving mate invariably stands back 


202 HISTORY OF MY PETS. 

till his thirst is satisfied. She also feeds 
him when he has difficulty in eating, and 
always carefully plumes him, as he can no 
longer perform that service for himself. 
Indeed, she attends to his toilet before her 
own. No fond wife of a disabled soldier 
could surpass her in watchful care and de¬ 
votion. What a touching little lesson is 
this, of tender, faithful love. I wonder if 
he would have done as much for her. Let 
us hope so. 


ROOSTER MOTHERS. 


203 


ROOSTER MOTHERS. 

Once upon a time, there lived in a New 
England farmyard a certain plump, pretty, 
gay-feathered hen, who, among all the 
fowls, was the liveliest scratcher and the 
merriest cackler, except when she was sit¬ 
ting on a nest full of eggs, when she was 
so cross, there was no living with her—al¬ 
ways bristling up and squalling, or sulking 
and glaring. She showed a particular 
spite against the young pullets, who had 
no such tiresome domestic duties to con¬ 
fine them, but could go gadding and cack¬ 
ling about just as they pleased. She al¬ 
ways appeared to be in a terrible hurry to 
have her brood hatched and started in the 
world ; and those poor weakly or lazy 


204 


HISTORY OF MY PETS. 


chicks who were the last to get out of 
their shells she was apt to treat very un- 
kin dly. 

One time she sat on ten good eggs, and 
in one day hatched nine fine chickens. 
But the shell of the tenth egg remained 
unbroken for some time longer. At last, 
after a good deal of pecking and rolling 
and kicking about, it popped open, and a 
puny little rooster crawled out—“peep,” 
“ peep”-ing in a scared pitiful way, that 
ought to have touched any hen-mother’s 
heart. But this proud biddy seeing that 
he was so small and ugly, and being very 
angry because he had kept her waiting so 
long—cooly turned her back on him, and 
devoted herself to her stronger and pret¬ 
tier children. That night, she refused to 
brood him, and actually drove him from 
the nest. If it had been cold weather I 
think he would have died,—but though 


ROOSTER MOTHERS. 


205 


such a wee, young thing, he had sense 
enough to see that if his mother would do 
nothing for him, he must look out for 
himself,—and as he could not nestle under 
her wing, he determined to make the best 
of her tail-feathers. So under their shel¬ 
ter, he managed to keep tolerably com¬ 
fortable till morning. After that the hen 
treated him a little better—but she often 
scolded him and clawed him, and he led a 
sad life. Many times, when the children 
flung crumbs to her and her brood, she 
would drive this poor little half-starved 
chick away, and he would run and hide in 
the currant bushes, and hang his head, and 
droop his small tail, and may-be wish that 
he had never been hatched. 

Now, it happened that there was also in 
that farm-yard a good old rooster, who, ob¬ 
serving how cruelly the little cockerel was 
treated, resolved to adopt him. So one 


20 6 


HISTORY OF MY PETS. 


day, he took him under his protection ; he 
hunted grain and worms for him, fought 
for him at meal times, and even brooded 
him at night, till the unfortunate chick 
was old enough to roost. 

Under this kind, fostering care, the 
puny youngster grew strong and handsome, 
and able to stand up for himself; and my 
little readers will be glad to hear that he 
always treated his good old Rooster- 
mother with grateful respect. As for his 
own mother, you will be glad also to hear 
that he once had the opportunity of de¬ 
fending her from a fierce rat. At her first 
squawk of alarm, he attacked the ugly 
enemy, with beak and spur, and drove it 
squealing into its hole. Then his repent¬ 
ant mother was happy to make up with 
him, and his brothers and sisters were 
proud of him ever after. 

A still more remarkable example of 


ROOSTER MOTHERS. 20J 

benevolence was once shown in the admir¬ 
able behavior of a certain Shanghai rooster, 
belonging to a relative of ours in the West. 
This fowl was old, but he was tender—he 
was ugly, but he was virtuous—as you will 
see. One of the worthy hens of his flock 
died suddenly,—of too much family care 
and labor, perhaps, for she left a brood of 
twelve hearty clamorous young chickens. 
One of the children, the poet of the 
family, said :— 

“Grandfather Shanghai 
Stood sadly by, 

And saw her die, 

With a tear in his eye/ 

Perhaps he received her last instructions, 
—her dying bequest. If so, never was a 
legatee more burdened with responsibili¬ 
ties ; for from that hour the good rooster 
adopted all those chickens, and devoted 


208 


HISTORY OF MY PETS. 


himself to them. When the fowls were 
fed, he guarded their portion ; he watched 
over them when hawks were hovering 
near; he scratched and fought for them 
and stalked around after them all day, and 
at night, after leading the other fowls to 
roost, he would descend from the old pear- 
tree, gather those poor sleepy little things 
under him, and do his best to brood them. 
His legs were so long and stiff that it was 
a difficult job. First he would droop one 
wing down to shelter them ; then, seeing 
that they were exposed on the other side, 
would let down the other. Then, finding 
that he could not keep both down at once, 
he would try to crouch lower, and would 
sometimes tip himself entirely over. It 
was a laughable sight, I assure you. But 
somehow he managed to keep them warm, 
to feed them, and bring them up in the 
way they should go ; and I hope they al- 


ROOSTE& MOTHERS. 


209 


ways loved him, and never made fun of 
their gaunt, ungainly old guardian, when 
they grew up, and went among the other 
young people of the farm-yard, especially 
when chatting with the foreign fowls, the 
proud Spanish hens, and the pretty Dork¬ 
ing pullets, 


210 


HISTORY OF MY PFTS . 


THE GALLANT BANTAM. 

I have observed that while the Ban¬ 
tam pullet is a quiet, modest, little panta- 
letted lady, the Bantam cockerel always 
makes up in big feeling for what he lacks 
in size. A gentleman farmer owned a 
Bantam of this sort, that was always full 
and bubbling over with fight. He would 
go at any gentleman-fowl in the yard, 
with beak and spur. He would defy the 
fiercest old gander, and challenge the big¬ 
gest “ cock of the walk ” to mortal com¬ 
bat. At last he grew so uncomfortably 
quarrelsome, and presented such a dis¬ 
reputable appearance,—having had the 
best part of his tail-feathers torn out, and 
his spurs broken off,—that his master was 


THE GALLANT BANTAM. 


211 


obliged to put him out to board with a 
nice old lady who had no fighting fowls 
for him to contend with. It was hoped 
that he would be content to tarry in that 
Jericho until his tail-feathers should be 
grown; but one day, when his master 
paid a visit to his good neighbor, he found 
the little Bantam with his head badly 
swollen, and with a patch over one eye 
and across his beak, placed there by the 
kind old lady. He had gone outside the 
yard, and picked a quarrel with a strange 
rooster, only about six times his size, and 
been pretty badly punished. 

A short time after, a big turkey gobbler 
was added to the feathered community of 
that farm-yard, the old lady not dreaming 
of the Bantam cock daring to make hos¬ 
tile demonstrations against such a poten¬ 
tate. But she had done our little hero in¬ 
justice. As soon as he saw the mighty 


212 


HISTORY OF MY PETS. 


spread the arrogant old fellow was mak¬ 
ing before a stately Shanghai hen, to 
which he himself was paying his addresses, 
he just gathered himself up and “went 
for him,” if I may make use of a slang 
expression which I know boys will under¬ 
stand only too well. The big gobbler, 
who was unacquainted with the story of 
David and Goliah, or didn’t believe it. 
was'not at all terrified. He looked down 
on his plucky little assailant in contempt¬ 
uous astonishment at first, and seemed to 
say, “What fooling is this?” But when 
he saw that the fiery little fellow was in 
earnest, he gave an angry double gobble, 
one toss of his ugly red rag, one blow 
with his terrible wing, and—well, the Ban¬ 
tam valiant and true* went on his raids no 
more—never again strutted at twilight, or 
crowed at dawn under the roost of his 
Shanghai love. He lay on his back, quite 


THE GALLANT BANTAM. 


213 


still, his little short legs sticking up straight 
in the air. While the turkey went stalk¬ 
ing proudly about, the hens gathered 
around his victim, cackling mournfully, 
and saying, perhaps,“ He was conceited— 
our poor friend—but gallant. He was 
small, but he had a big stomach for fight.” 


214 


HISTORY OF MY PETS. 


OTHER DISOWNED CHICKS. 

I have a friend living in the very heart 
of the big city of Chicago, who owns 
several hens of rare varieties, and a flock 
of young chickens of remarkable promise. 
She keeps them in her back-yard, which 
they utterly devastate, not suffering a 
green thing to live, making it look like a 
small copy of the Desert of Sahara. Yet 
she says keeping them reminds her of the 
country! She is a very poetic and imagi¬ 
native lady. 

One of this good lady’s hens is a hand¬ 
some, stately fowl, dressed in gray satin, 
and wearing a top-knot that is like a crown 
of silver. She has one chicken, almost 
full grown,—the last of many lively chil- 


OTHER DISOWNED CHICKS. 215 

dren, the victims of rats and the pip. Of 
him she is very fond. There was, at one 
time, great danger that he would be 
spoiled,—for she toiled for him all day, 
trotting about everywhere with him “ at 
her apron-strings,” so to speak ; and she 
actually broods him at night, though, do 
the best she can in spreading herself, she 
can’t take in all of his tail, unless she lets 
his head stick out somewhere. Thus he 
is content to sleep ingloriously, when he 
ought to be roosting on some lofty perch, 
ready to greet the first streak of dawn 
with a brave crow, prophetic of the day. 

A few weeks ago another hen, a young 
pullet, dressed gaily every day in gold 
and brown, with a gorgeous top-knot, 
came, one morning, triumphantly out 
from under the porch, with a large flock 
of charming little chicklings, who tod¬ 
dled along after her and glanced up at 


2l6 


HISTORY OF MY PETS. 


the sky, and around on the earth,—that 
vast sandy plain of the back-yard,—in a 
most knowing and patronizing manner. 
Nobody would have guessed it was their 
first day out of the shell. They were not 
going to show their greeness,—not they. 

For a while those downy, yellow, cun¬ 
ning little roly-poly creatures seemed to 
amuse their mother; she appeared fond 
of them, taking pleasure in parading them 
before such of her neighbors as were 
chickenless. But she was a giddy biddy, 
lazy and selfish ; so, as soon as she found 
that she must scratch to fill so many little 
crops, she threw up maternity in disgust. 
She actually cast off her whole brood, 
pecked at them, and scolded them till they 
ran from her in fright, and huddled to¬ 
gether in a corner of the fence, peeping 
piteously, and doubtless wishing they had 
never been hatched. Perhaps some were 


OTHER DISOWNED CHICKS. 2\J 

chicken-hearted enough to wish for death 
to end their troubles, till they caught sight 
of some ugly old rat prowling about 
“ seeking whom he might devour,” when 
they reconsidered the matter, and took a 
more cheerful view of life. 

Well, it came to pass that the excellent 
gray hen, with one big chicken, seeing 
their forlorn condition, pitied them ex¬ 
ceedingly, and actually adopted the whole 
flock. Only think, children, it was as 
though your mother should adopt a small 
orphan asylum, and all of them twins! 

She toils for them and protects them all 
day, treating them in all respects as her 
own chicks, till sundown ; then, not hav¬ 
ing room for them under her wings with¬ 
out dislodging her only son and heir, she 
always escorts them up the steps of the 
porch and sees them go to bed in a little 
box, which has been prepared for them by 


218 


HISTORY OF MY PETS. 


their kind mistress, with a cover of slats 
to guard them from rats and cats and 
bats and owls, and everything that prowls 
or lies in wait for small fowls. Well, 
when she has seen the last chick tumble 
in, and cuddle down to its place with 
a sleepy good-night “peep,” to be brooded 
under the invisible wings of the soft sum¬ 
mer night, that good, motherly creature 
descends with stately dignity from the 
porch to her own sleeping apartment 
underneath, when she mounts on a box, 
and, calling her one long-legged darling, 
does her best to hover him, and to make 
believe he is a baby-chicken still. In 
the morning she is astir betimes, scratch¬ 
ing and pecking for him and his adopted 
brothers and sisters with wonderful im¬ 
partiality. 1 must do this same big 
chicken the justice to say that he has 
never made any violent opposition to this 


OTHER DISOWNED CHICKS. 219 

sudden addition to the family; but he has 
rather a haughty manner towards the little 
interlopers, and could we understand the 
sort of Chickasaw language he speaks, 
we might find him occasionally remonstrat¬ 
ing with his maternal parent in this wise : 
“ Really, mother, it strikes me you are run¬ 
ning your benevolence into the ground, in 
scratching your nails off for a lot of other 
hen’s chickens! such things don’t pay, 
ma’am ; charity begins at home, and one 
would think you had enough on your 
claws, in providing for the wants of a 
growing young rooster like me, without 
doing missionary work. Besides, you are 
encouraging idleness and shiftlessness; it 
just sticks in my crop to have you burden 
yourself with the cast-off responsibilities of 
that impudent pullet, who goes cawking 
lazily about, carrying her top-knot as high 
as ever.” 


220 


HISTORY OF MY PETS. 


The conduct of that unnatural young 
mother is, indeed, reprehensible. At meal¬ 
times she always comes elbowing her way 
through the crowd of her virtuous neigh¬ 
bors, to secure the largest share of corn- 
mush, not hesitating to rob her own child¬ 
ren ! She will be likely to have a disturb¬ 
ing and demoralizing influence on the 
female feathered community. She shirks 
her duties,—declines to lay eggs lest 
chickens should come of them. She be¬ 
lieves the chicken population is too large 
already for the average supply of chick- 
weed and grubworms. She discourages 
nest-making, and despises her weak- 
minded sisters, who, in spite of her warn¬ 
ing, persist in laying, sitting, and hatch¬ 
ing ; who really believe in the innocence 
of chickenhood, and actually love to brood 
their chicks, to feel the soft little things 
stir against their breasts, and to hear now 


OTHER DISOWNED CHICKS. 


221 


and then, in the still, dark night, their 
drowsy “peep, peep.” She goes against 
all such silly sentiment and loving slavery. 
She pities any poor pullet who has to 
spend her days in a coop, especially in 
Chicago. She is a sort of hen-emanci¬ 
pator, and strolls about at “ her own sweet 
will,” “in maiden meditation, fancy free.” 

If she could have the management of 
the hatchway, all chickens would be 
hatched with equal rights to wear the 
spur, and with equal gifts of crest and 
crow; all hatching would be done by 
steam, in a general incubatorium at gov¬ 
ernment expense, in a way to astonish 
all grandmother Biddies; sittings would be 
abolished, coops levelled to the earth, and 
the sound of the cluck be heard no more 
in the land. 

As for the poor cast-off chicks, they 
grow and thrive, get more steady on their 


222 


HISTORY OP MY PETS. 


legs, and put out tiny tail-feathers tinged 
with gold, as the bright summer days 
go on. They doubtless think that their 
second mother is the certain true one, and 
honor her silver top-knot accordingly. 

So you see, dear children, there is a 
Providence for little chickens, as well as 
for little sparrows. 













